Shattered
by Scotland Evander
Summary: It all began because she overslept. If she hadn't overslept, she wouldn't have forgotten her notebook, wouldn't have written in the evil diary that snarked back and would never have wound up in 1943 with a boy who hates singing. *What happened to Atlanta Black when she went MIA in History Keeps Pulling* *Part of the Rewritten in Time series*
1. Fall Into Your Sunlight

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I don't own it. **

_A/N: This is the story of what happens to Atlanta Black (OC from _Regrets Collect _and_ History Keeps Pulling)_ when she goes missing in _History Keeps Pulling_. _

_12 July 2013 - edited and reloaded_

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**_Falling Into Your Sunlight_**

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It was all because she overslept. If Atlanta Black had simply woken up on time, her roommates had been successful at waking her, or if she simply went to bed before one in the morning, it would not have happened. If she had not been running around like the Mad Hatter getting ready for a tea party, she would have remembered to grab her stack of notebooks off the floor next to her bed. If she had been able to eat a proper breakfast she would have been thinking clearly.

Clearly, Atlanta woke up late, ran around like the Mad Hatter and missed breakfast.

Professor McGongally had just taken away the stack of toast Ginny Weasley had gotten for her to eat when Atlanta realized she'd left her notebooks back in her room. The only notebook like object in her whole school bag was that blasted, black diary belonging to a T.M. Riddle.

The one that frightened Draco. The one that caused Harry to go a bit…off.

"Shoot," she whispered, trying to see if she had any spare parchment. Atlanta hated parchment. She didn't understand why notebooks weren't more prevalent in the wizarding world, as keeping rolls of parchment wasn't very organized. She'd witnessed way too many Ravenclaws with piles of parchment exploding all over the place to not keep notebooks.

Today, she failed to have parchment or her notebooks. Just the "evil" diary.

"Miss Black," McGonagall reprimanded. "You will be needing to take notes if you plan to understand."

"Yes, Professor," Atlanta answered.

She was about to bite her pride and ask for some parchment from her Slytherin neighbor, when her eyes landed on the little black notebook again.

Stuff the Slytherin.

Throwing caution to the wind, she grabbed black diary out of her bag and flipped it open. Glancing at the only thing written in the whole book— T.M. Riddle— she turned to the first full blank page.

Who ever T.M. Riddle was, he didn't write anything in his diary.

Maybe because it was filled with something dark and sinister?

Atlanta bit her lip as complex notes began to fill the blackboard in front of her. She knew the dangers of unknown books, especially ones that Lucius Malfoy wanted to give to his enemies. But, she had no choice. She had to write in it. She was not about to ask for parchment from the Slytherin she was seated next to.

What trouble could she get in with writing in it with Muggle ink pens? And transfiguration notes at that?

Shaking her head, she grabbed her pen from behind her ear and began to write. She filled the first page (supposedly for her thoughts on 1 January 1943) with her transfiguration notes. She flipped the page and set her pen down to continue writing only to realize there were no indentations from her notes on the previous page.

Frowning, she turned back to the first page.

It was blank.

"What the heck?" she whispered under her breath.

While the stupid thing was sinister, evil things didn't eat ink. Checking the back cover, she saw it still claimed to have been from a variety store on Vauxhall Road in London. Clearly Muggle, so the pages weren't made with magic, but they could be charmed. Yet, there was no magic on the pages. Flipping it back to the first page, it was still blank.

Atlanta shifted her vision for a moment so she could see magic better. There was no magic dancing around on the pages, just around the book. The black sparkly magic swirled around the book, but not the pages.

So, writing should be safe.

Maybe it hide what you wrote? Or maybe it was a storage system? You only had to write on the first page and it stored everything for later use?

But it was evil, why would it help you out?

Shaking her head she tried again, writing more Transfiguration notes. She covered the page again and watched the ink sink into the page.

"Dude," she breathed.

"Shut up," her neighbor hissed. "What are you doing?"

She quirked an eyebrow at the Slytherin sitting next to her, keeping a look of indifference on her face. "Nothing. Just note taking."

Atlanta went back to note taking, hearing Ginny snort in front of her somewhere.

Her notes continued to vanish.

She wrote them over and over. Each time the stupid notebook ate them. What did this stupid, dark, evil notebook want with her Transfiguration notes? She was about to give off a frustrated growl when suddenly, writing appeared on the formerly blank page. Perfectly formed, artful handwriting filled the page with one question:

_Why do you keep writing Transfiguration notes in my diary?_

Bloody hell. It had a brain. It was evil and had a brain.

Atlanta almost dropped her pen.

_And you seem to be using a Muggle ink pen, as this isn't wizarding ink. Who are you?_

Atlanta felt her chest constrict.

The evil book was talking to her.

The Dark Magic swirled around her. She could feel it tugging at her, trying to pull her in.

It knew her.

Atlanta mentally cursed in several languages.

She slammed the notebook shut, loudly. She gained the attention of the class and Professor McGonagall frowned at her, docking Griffyndor five points.

Atlanta gulped. Man, she was a moron. Yeah, she was eleven, but she should KNOW better than to write (even innocent school notes) in an evil object.

She had experience with Dark Magic, being a Black. Her father was fascinated with anything Dark and had exposed her to it early in life. While it creeped her out a bit, it came easy to her. This thing, though, was on the darker side of Dark.

There was something wrong with it.

She'd never felt any pull from any things before. It felt like it'd reached out and tried to grab her.

It felt like it knew her.

Creepy on ten different levels.

No more writing in it. Ever. And she was getting rid of it. Harry wasn't sure if he wanted her to give it to the Headmaster or if they ought to just hold on to it. Harry was kind of mental.

Atlanta was dumping it on Dumbledore.

After she got her own notebooks from her room and got a copy of today's notes. Then, next stop Headmaster's Office!

When class was over, she grabbed Ginny asking her for her notes. The redhead handed them over without questions.

"You going to lunch?" Ginny asked, looking confused when Atlanta took off in the wrong direction.

"I'm going to run to the tower and get my notebooks. I'll see you at lunch," Atlanta said, hurrying away.

She darted around people as she took the moving staircase up to the seventh floor. After shouting the password to the painting, Atlanta hurried up the stairs to her dormitory. She grabbed her notebooks, shoving them into her bag. Tossing her bag onto her shoulder, she yanked out the thin diary. She glared at it, feeling it tugging at her magic. Whatever magic it had been made with seemed to be compatible with her own magic. She frowned at this, always wishing her magic wasn't more suited for Dark than Light magic.

"Whatever," she grumbled, turning and heading out of the room.

She tromped down the stairs, not really paying attention to what she was doing. Before she knew what was happening, she tripped on the edge of her robes (hence why she hated robes), throwing herself down the stairs. She landed face first on the floor, a sickening crack issuing from her nose. She could taste the coppery blood as it oozed out of her nose. Pain thundered around her mind and she felt woozy. She tried to push herself up, but something was preventing her from getting up.

Something grabbed her and the world suddenly felt a lot like paper. And it smelled a lot like an old library. There was a short moment when she felt like she was squeezing through a tube that reeked of ink. The next, she was hurdled out of the tube and landed in a crumbled heap on a wooden floor. She hardly registered the fact there was someone letting out a string of curse words somewhere to her right.


	2. Future's Open Wide

**A/N: "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile" lyrics are by Martin Charnin, music by Charles Strouse. "Over the Rainbow" lyrics by E.Y. Harburg, music by Harold Arlen. **

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. **

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle had seen many strange things in his life, mostly caused by his own hand. Things floated, vanished, changed color, exploded, people transformed into ferrets all thanks to the magic that flowed through his superior blood. At sixteen, Tom was mastering spells far advanced for his years.

This time, though, he hadn't done anything.

He had been minding his own business (being somewhat innocent), attempting to write all his memories about his past year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in order to preserve them for future generations. The moment IT had happened, he'd been toying with the idea of doing something to the recorded memories that would allow the person to VIEW him being the glorious Heir of Slytherin. There had to be a charm for that.

In a perfect world, there would be a spell so he would be able to control the person who stumbled across the diary in order to continue the work that he'd been prevented from continuing. While there was a spell for that, he doubted if he cursed hid diary with _Imperio_ it'd work.

While Tom prided himself on being more clever than the average wizard, he did not think his thought process on spelling his diary was powerful enough to yank something out of an ordinary Muggle diary he had performed no magic on.

But, somehow, something had exploded out of his diary, sending him flying backwards, landing hard flat on his back staring at the ceiling. Once he recovered, he took stock of his current situation, only to find there was a PERSON on top of him. A small person, who was still breathing— wheezing.

The person was bleeding all over his shoulder.

Cursing, he pushed the figure off. The person gave a groan and rolled over, moving rather fluidly to sit up.

"Bloody hell," the person grumbled, holding her nose.

"Who are you?" he demanded, quickly getting to his feet. His fingers itched to grab his wand, but he was in the Muggle world and at that blasted orphanage for the summer.

He was underaged as well. No magic.

He ground his back teeth together, glaring at the ground. He needed to master himself. He looked back up and noticed the person who'd burst forth from his diary was a child in Hogwarts robes. She had out of control wavy black hair and rather intense amber eyes that watched him like a hawk. She was using the sleeve of her robes to stanch her nose.

"Whob are youb?" she countered thickly in an American accent. It wasn't the one he'd heard while he was growing up on the radio. It was soft, almost melodious sounding.

"I asked first. And this is my room," Tom snapped.

He towered over the child. She should have been shirking away from him, not glaring up at him. She lowered her sleeves from her broken nose and regarded him pointedly for a moment. He'd seen her stance and manner before: she was a pureblood.

"Your uniform is wrong," she said faintly.

"Pardon?"

"Bugger. Where's that bleeping book?" she asked, pushing herself to her feet. Her eyes fell on his desk to the cheap diary he had gotten on Vauxhall Road. She grabbed it up before he could say anything. She was flipping through it before Tom moved snatch it out of her bloody hands.

Disgusting.

He'd need a new one now. All that work wasted because someone stupid idiot bled all over his diary.

Her reflexes were fast. She lost grip on it for a second, but quickly swerved, preventing Tom from getting the diary. She studied him, looking scared for the first time. It was rather pathetic, as she was covered with blood and her nose was clearly broken.

"It's written in," she announced.

"It's a diary."

"It wasn't written in before," she insisted. "I wrote my Transfiguration notes in it and they vanished. I did it like twenty times and each time on the same page. And they vanished. Then some snarky git with your handwriting told me to stop writing my notes. So, I stopped. Well, more like I freaked out."

"Excuse me?"

"Freaked out. Kind of got…scared? Well, actually, I decided Draco was right and I shouldn't touch it and maybe I ought to give it to Dumbledore. I mean, it's bleeding Dark Magic. Well, it was. Now it's just…normal. No longer bleeding Dark Magic." She raised an eyebrow suddenly, studying Tom. "Kinda like you."

"Excuse me?"

"You're drenched in it," she muttered, backing up a bit. "You're making my fingers itch worst than Dre."

"Excuse me?"

She stared at him, looking all around him, seeing something he was clearly not. Or she was insane.

"Where the heck are we?" she asked, turning around. "This is not Hogwarts."

"No. It's not," Tom grumbled.

"Where the fudge are we then? Bugger, you don't look old enough to do magic outside of school. Fudge," she muttered, gingerly touching her nose. "I kind liked my nose straight. It was totally not Black."

"You're a Black? Who are you? Answer me," Tom demanded, pulling his wand out of his trunk and pointing it at her. "I don't give a damn about the Trace. Tell me. Now."

He could feel his magic crackle around him and found it odd the girl was looking at the air around him with temptation, rather than at him.

It annoyed him.

"Yeah. I'm a Black. You're not," she said. "This place is…sad."

She frowned.

"Indeed."

She snorted for some reason (which made her wince), scampering away from him and looking out the window. She gasped.

"Duuuuuuude!" she breathed, pressing her face to the window. "Totally not in Kansas right now, Toto."

"Toto?"

"Yeah, _Wizard of Oz_," she supplied, turning back to face him. "All right. Am I in the diary? I mean, I tripped and fell down the stairs."

"Clearly," Tom drawled.

"Duh," she said, peeling off her outer robe. She frowned as she studied the rich, expensive material, which was splattered with blood. "I hate robes."

Tom gaped at the child, who was wearing odd leggings, a tiny piece of cloth that might have been a skirt if it'd been about five inches longer and a blood spattered white dress shirt with a very loosely tied tie, which due to its coloring lead Tom to believe she was a Gryffindor.

Of course. Only a brain dead lion would get sucked into a diary.

Tom stared at her feet for a moment, noticing she wasn't wearing the usual dress shoes girls wore. She was wearing some sort of lace up boot. They looked shockingly similar to the combat boots he'd seen Muggle soldiers wearing with their uniforms.

"Who are you?"

"Black. Atlanta Black," she supplied. "I'm American, if you failed to notice."

"Clearly."

"And you are?"

"Riddle."

"T.M. Riddle, should have guessed," Black muttered, folding up her robe. She gingerly touched her nose again. "Do you have somewhere I can wash the blood off? Can I get to St. Mungo's?"

"Why?"

"To straighten out my nose. Besides the fact it hurts like a mother load, I fancy my straight nose. I don't want a crooked one. Due to the fact you are utterly perfect, I think you can agree that appearances do count in our world."

"I'm perfect?"

"There's not a hair out of place on your head, dude," the girl pointed out, rolling her eyes. "So, where in London are we?"

Tom studied her for a long moment. She shifted on her feet. Her bundled robe was under her arm. She glanced around the room and noticed something on the ground.

"Eureka!" she exclaimed, grabbing a leather book bag up off the ground. Tom stared at it. It was high quality, yet it looked very unfamiliar to him. She opened the flap and stuffed the robe into it. The bag did not bulge. Of course, her bag was charmed to fit everything.

"How are you going to explain to the people at St. Mungo's what happened?"

"Uh, I'll say I fell down some stairs?"

"You looked out the window, correct?" Tom eyed her strange clothing. While clearly a Hogwarts uniform, it was as wrong as the one he was wearing appeared to her.

"Yes, I've come to realize I've must have traveled through time, Sherlock," Black spat at him, putting her hands on her nonexistent hips. "What year we at?"

"1943," Tom replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"Brilliant," she grumbled. "Bloody hell."

"Language."

"Oh yeah," she said, looking distracted. "CRAP! World War Two is going on and I'm in freaking LONDON!"

She began to hyperventilate and collapsed to the floor.

"I guess you know about the bombs," Tom drawled, scowling.

She nodded, still trying to breathe. He wanted to kick the child out of his room. Throw her out the window. Curse her a few times and then throw her out the window. He only didn't do this because she had exploded out of his diary. He needed answers.

He needed to get back to Hogwarts to get those answers, so he best not get thrown out for doing underage magic. Since the child was magical, it was fair to say at some point Dumbledore's crooked nose would get whiff of another magical being in the orphanage (because he was just like that) and show up.

Heaving a great sigh, he stared at the girl. "Get up. We'll go to St. Mungo's. Or at least a Muggle hospital. I'm not sure where St. Mungo's is located."

Tom frowned. He ought to know that information.

Black took a few gulping breaths, closing her eyes for a moment. "I know where it's at. It's in central London. Do you happen to have a pen?"

Without speaking, Tom handed her a scrap of paper and the pen. Keeping her eyes closed, she drew a map. She handed it to Tom, who stared at it. He turned it a few times before he realized where St. Mungo's was located.

"I don't know if we'll be able to get there," Tom admitted.

"Bugger. Does the Knight Bus exist?"

"The what?"

"Muggle's got buses?"

Tom nodded.

"Let's go."

She turned and flung his door open and walked into the hallway. Tom grabbed his diary, shoving it into his pocket and grabbed his jacket, which he threw at the girl. She stared at it, then put it on. While she looked somewhat tall for the age he assumed she was, Tom was tall, so the coat was big on her, but it covered her outrageous outfit.

"Be quiet," he ordered.

She nodded her agreement. Tom closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then led her down the stairs. The pair managed to make it outside without anyone noticing. Once they were out on the road, Black scampered in front of Tom, flicked her left wrist and her wand appeared in her hand.

"How did you do that?" Tom asked.

The girl had the nerve to give him a cheeky grin instead of an answer. She turned back to the street and waved her wand up and brought it down and leapt backwards. Tom didn't understand the backwards leap till he wound up on his behind after there was a loud BANG and a bus appeared in front of them.

"The Knight Bus!"

The bus was an absurd shade of purple and triple decker. A conductor appeared in a matching purple uniform and began to recite a greeting from memory. Black bounced up and down till the man noticed her.

"What choo do to yur nose?" the man asked Black.

"I broke it. I need to fix it and we're not old enough to do magic yet," Black said, smiling charmingly at the man.

Tom knew what she was doing. He'd done it a few times, though not often as the act of being sweet and innocent didn't come to him natural. Charming and dashing got him farther than sweet.

Before he knew what was happening, a tiny hand grabbed onto his wrist and she yanked him to his feet.

How did someone so small have the ability to pull up him up? While Tom was not exactly large, he wasn't a string bean. He was thin, but lithe. He had muscle mass.

"How much is it for two?"

"'Choo fall over for?" the man asked, eyeing Tom.

"We've never used this before. How much does it cost for two?"

"Where your parents?"

"Dead," she said, her amber eyes going large and filling with water.

Tom leaped into action. "Hush. It's okay. Excuse me, she's asked you twice. How much?"

"Oh, choo wanna go to Mungo's?"

Tom nodded.

"Five knuts."

Tom felt Black give a sigh. "Brill. Thanks, Mister."

The man smiled down at Black, who was doing her cute kid act to perfection. Tom helped her up onto the bus (playing caring Samaritan flawlessly), while the conductor asked her a million and ten questions about her fall, her nose and her stoic brother, who glowered at him.

Wait, her brother?

"We're both students at Hogwarts," Black announced. "But we live in an orphanage during the summers. Not the bees knees indeed."

The conductor stared at her for a moment before Tom explained. "She likes to try out Muggle slang all the time."

Tom was sure no one had used "bees knees" since before he was born.

"Oh, two knuts. For both of choos," the man said, winking at Black.

"Oh! Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Black thanked him and fished the money out of her pocket of her…skirt. She seemed to have an undetectable extending charm on her skirt pockets as her hand went into the pocket deeper than the skirt existed. The man failed to noticed. He left them alone as the bus blasted around with no rhyme or reason. It would have been almost fascinating if it hadn't been so nauseating.

"I think we're not in London," the girl commented. "This looks like Glasgow. I love Glasgow. I don't know why. Though, it looks a wee bit different in my time."

"When are you from?"

"Oh, later than you," she replied airily. "I'm eleven till November. Wait, what month is it?"

"July."

"Ah. Well, in July 1943 I think my dad was born, but not my mom," she offered. Tom glowered at her. She laughed at him. "Have you ever tried to smile?"

Tom glared at her.

"You're never fully dressed without a smile," she informed him in a sing song voice. She suddenly began to actually sing, rocking back and forth, wearing a rather annoyingly large smile, showing off some rather absurdly white teeth. "_Who cares you're wearing from Main Street to Seville Row, it's what you wear from ear to ear, and not from head to toe. You're never fully dressed without a smile." _

She gave him another huge smile, pulling at the corners of his mouth upwards with her index fingers. At his expression, she laughed.

Tom felt an odd feeling roll around, skirting over his skin leaving him feeling rather warm and content.

"It's hard to sing with a broken nose," she commented. "Hurts."

"Then don't sing."

This child was annoying. She continued to sing, which tragically was rather good even with her nose broken. Tom had never heard the song she was singing, but she was putting on a good show— embarrassingly so. Several patrons ventured down to the level they were on and cheered her on while she continued her quest to annoy Tom to no end. When they finally reached the hospital, several people handed her a few coins or other random things.

"Never had that happen," she muttered after they got off the bus. She shoved everything into her pocket and stared at a department store that looked that the Blitz had done a number on it, though as Tom stared, he had a sense the damage wasn't actually done by German bombs, but rather magic to make it appear it had been damaged.

Black walked up to the window— filled with broken dummies and trash— and pressed her hands to the solid glass. She stared at the dummy in the window. "I need my nose fixed. It broke."

Much to his surprise, the dummy moved its head and nodded. Black's hands began to melt into the glass. Grinning, she stepped forward and melted into the window, grabbing Tom's wrist before she fully vanished. Tom jerked out of her grasp the moment they were in the waiting room. It was crowded with people with all sorts of disfiguring ailments. Tom felt his skin crawl a bit as he noticed someone with an elephant trunk spouting out of his head. The room was loud, as some of the people waiting were making odd noises. Tom ignored everyone who was now staring at him and Black as they stood in line at the welcome desk. They reached the front quickly.

"Yes?"

"I broke my nose."

"What spell did you use?" the bored witch asked without even looking up.

"I tripped. But my brother and I are underaged and can't fix it with magic. I don't fancy having a Muggle doctor fix my nose," Black announced, smoothly using a rather posh sounding British accent all of a sudden. She was even giving the bored witch a haunting look Tom had seen Malfoy and Walburga Black dish out on several occasions. "I didn't see what floor broken noses were to go to on the guide."

The witch suddenly looked up, having taken note of the aristocratic voice talking to her. Her eyes went from Tom, who was sporting his school uniform slacks, school sweater vest and dress shirt (for lack of having any other clothes), to Black, whose face was only visible over the counter. Tom glanced at the child next to him, then back to the welcome witch.

They did look somewhat related. If you didn't look too close.

"Ground floor. Right through there," the witch said. "Waiting room on your left, miss."

"Thank you," Black said, still using her posh accent. She backed up a bit and waited pointedly for Tom to lead her. He eyed her for a moment, before leading her in the direction indicated.

It looked like an emergency room at a Muggle hospital.

"We need a better story," Tom said, regretting it the moment he said it to her. Engaging her in conversation was not his aim at the moment.

"True. I think we ought to stick as close to the truth as we can," Black offered, reverting to her American accent. "They're going to ask for an adult. Who is your magical guardian?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're an orphan. Who explained magic to you?"

"Dumbledore," Tom spat.

Black raised an eyebrow at him. "I see, Mr. Riddle. Since your name is all ready down in the books, we'll use your surname. And you sound like one of those posh Brits, so I'll stick with this accent." She flawlessly switched to her British accent. "They will more than likely inform Dumbledore, who if he's not horridly busy will hustle down here and I'll tell him about my time travel mishap. I need a name."

"Calliope."

The name came to his mind out of nowhere. He quickly covered the look of surprise on his own face at his quick suggestion of a name that fit the annoying, singing child.

"What?"

"Calliope Riddle. There. You have a name."

"Brill. We'll tell Dumbledore the truth, but you'll have to be some sort of relations to me."

"Calliope Wren Riddle," Tom ordered, oddly liking the sound. "Half sister."

"Wren?"

"It's a song bird."

"_You're never fully dressed without a smi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ile," _she managed to drag out, while wearing a ridiculous smile.

Tom groaned.

"NEXT!"

Black hurried up to the counter, still smiling. "I broke my nose."

The witched stared at her. Tom refrained from an eye roll or glower. Who smiles while having a broken nose?

"I tripped. But my brother and I can't do magic because we're underaged. I haven't even started school. I don't have a wand," Black added, still smiling. "I'd like my formerly perfect nose fixed please."

The witch blinked. "Name?"

"Riddle. Calliope Wren."

The witch made an odd face for a moment. "Riddle?"

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?" Black drawled, changing her posture and dropping the sweet smile and retreating behind her pureblood mask.

"No. Never heard that name before," the witch muttered.

"You will. Don't worry," Black snapped. "How long till someone fixes my nose?"

The witch glanced up at Tom, who pointedly looked elsewhere.

"Thirty minutes or more," the witch said. "Where are your parents?"

"Dead. Professor Dumbledore is my brother's magical guardian. And I guess mine as soon as I get my letter."

The witch blinked a few times, not sure what to make of this development.

"Come, Calliope. They'll call your name when they are ready for you," Tom said in a controlled tone, the same one he used as a prefect.

Black gave one last withering look to the witch at the desk and followed Tom to take a seat. They sat down, Black sitting far enough back her feet didn't hit the ground.

"I like feeling short," she suddenly announced. "Usually I feel too tall."

Tom made a noise of agreement and picked up a paper. He started to read, singling the end of the discussion. This waiting room was a bit more quiet, but still rather noisy. He wasn't sure how long has passed before he heard soft singing next to him. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Black, who was holding the end of the chair and swinging her feet back and forth, staring at her ugly, heavy black boots.

"_Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high. There's a land I dreamed of once in a lullaby. Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true_," she sang softly, looking almost as if she wasn't aware what she was doing. "_Someday I'll wish upon a star and wake up where clouds are behind me, oh, trouble melt like lemon drops high above the chimney tops that's where you'll find me. Oh, somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow, oh, why, oh then, why can't I?_"

She took to humming the tune open mouthed, as she couldn't hum like a normal person due to her broken nose. Something inside of Tom seemed to break as she continued to sing the song a few more times. It was almost as if she infused magic into her singing. He felt it sweep over his skin and sink in.

He wanted to be annoyed with her, wanted to snarl at her to shut up and mind her own business, but he liked her voice. Hearing it soothed something that he wasn't aware was wrong. He assumed it was the magic in it that was doing something to him, as her magic was similar to the nature of his, only she was a happy-go-lucky child, something Tom had never been.

He folded the paper after a moment and glanced around the room, realizing most of the patients had fallen quiet to watch the quietly singing girl. She had lulled the entire room without realizing it. An evil smirk played on Tom's lips as his mind went over what he could do with her power.


	3. Beyond Believing

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. **

_A/N: The song Atlanta is "writing" is "Shattered" by Trading Yesterday. The line Tom reads is from that song. _

_13 July 2013 - Edited and reloaded_

* * *

**_Beyond Believing_**

* * *

It took almost two hours for a Healer to see the them.

It was pestiferous to no end. Tom wanted to discuss how Black had exploded out of his diary he'd been writing in, but the steadily crowding waiting room was not the place for such a disquisition.

Black sang for almost a half hour before she realized she was singing out loud. She fell silent until one of the other people in the waiting room struck up a conversation about her song. Getting over her embarrassment at lulling the entire room into a stupor (which Tom noted she understood how it had happened), the child began talking to the person, who transfigured something into a guitar. The man handed it to her and began to instruct her on to play it. The child caught on quickly, stating she had a few basic lessons from someone called Mr. Remus.

The man left after another half hour, leaving Black with her new toy. She began to pick out a song, the one she'd been singing before. She was careful not to sing Tom noted.

After an hour, she began to play a melody she didn't seem to know. She sang out notes, no words, till she'd created a song. It seemed without words, her singing magic had no power over the room, other than a few people who were clearly enjoying it. The melody she picked out, though, made Tom break out in goose pimples.

Without needing to ask, Tom handed her the _Daily Prophet_ and she pulled what looked like an odd Muggle contraption from behind her ear. She jotted down the notes and began writing words. Tom read what she was writing, but couldn't make sense of any of it. The only line she seemed to like was, "All is lost, hope remains and this war's not over." Everything else was crossed out. As time went on, she began to rearrange the notes, and began frowning.

Tom refrained from asking her if she often wrote music while sitting around with a broken nose. He was happy she wasn't bothering him.

"Calliope Riddle?"

Tom grabbed Black by the wrist and dragged her off. He heard her make an annoyed noise and the guitar protested by making an odd clanging noise as he took her over to the Medi-Witch who was waiting for them.

"This is your sister?" the Medi-Witch asked.

Tom nodded.

"Here, you dropped this," someone said.

"Thank you!" Black said from behind Tom before he shoved her in front of the Medi-Witch. He heard the guitar string clang unattractively as Black gripped the neck of the guitar.

"She broke her nose," Tom announced.

"I fell down the stairs," Black informed the lady.

Tom, who hadn't actually looked at Black in almost three hours, was alarmed to find Black sported two rather painful looking black eyes.

"Honest. I fell down the stairs and smashed my nose into a book," Black went on. Tom clenched his jaw. "My brother isn't seventeen yet, so we didn't want to chance healing it ourselves. It wasn't life or death. We live in a Muggle orphanage."

"Calliope," Tom hissed out of the side of his mouth.

"You live in a Muggle…" the Medi-Witch trailed off, looking between the pair.

Tom knew he didn't look like he belonged in an orphanage. While he sported second hand robes his first few years at Hogowarts, last year, when he'd been made prefect, he'd gotten new robes and new uniform clothing to wear underneath the same quality all Slytherins wore.

Then he grew three inches over the course of the year. Tom wished he'd stop growing already. At least he'd thought to buy trousers that had at least five inches to let out.

Black, though, might have the pureblood behavior and voice down, but she looked like a disaster. Even in the rather nice second hand jacket Tom had procured.

"Our parents were killed," Black announced, sticking out her bottom lip and pulling the oversized jacket closer to herself. "No one knew what to do with us."

"Calliope," Tom scolded. "Hush. Please, heal her nose."

Tom knew his tone was snappy, but he'd been sitting around with this girl for almost three hours and still had no clue why, what, or how. And he had to know. Now.

"Follow me," the witch said, eyeing Tom for a moment. He sighed, holding back a groan.

They were lead into a small room, all white and sterile. The woman had Black sit down on a table and studied her nose for a few minutes, then tapped it with her wand. Black let out a yelp and her nose snapped back in place. The pair prattled for a long time till Black was fed a few potions and was lathered with bruise ointment around her eyes to reduce the swelling. Just as the Medi-Witch was finished, a knock sounded on the door and opened shortly to reveal none other than Albus Dumbledore, his horrid magenta robes making Tom wish he was blind.

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore greeted, smiling and twinkling. He cast a glance at Black, who beamed back at him. Tom refrained from rolling his eyes, stomping his foot and shooting out a hex.

"Good evening, Professor. I do not think you have had the pleasure of meeting my little sister, Calliope," Tom offered, indicating to Black with a sweep of his hand. "She will be starting Hogwarts this fall."

"I will," Black agreed, turning her attention from Tom to Dumbledore. She stuck out her hand, then realized what she was doing. She hopped off the table and gave Dumbledore a small curtsy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Dumbledore."

"And I you," Dumbledore greeted, bowing a bit. When he righted, he locked eyes with Black. Tom watched the man carefully as he studied Black for a moment before asking, "So, what happened to land you in hospital?"

"I fell down some stairs. I tripped on the hem of my robes, fell head over feet and landed face first into a book. Splat!" Black added a few hand motions to illustrate her story. "There was blood all over the place. Then, when I thought things couldn't get any worst, I fell again, right into T.M."

Dumbledore hummed, looking at Tom. Tom put a hand on Black's shoulder and looked at Dumbledore, not meeting his eyes. He kept his gaze just above Dumbledore's shoulder.

"She is tragically clumsy," Tom offered.

"I am not!" Black snapped.

"I'm going to go grab some vials for you to take home with you," the witch said, going out the door and closing it behind her.

Dumbledore waved his wand and his cheery, old grandfather persona fell. He looked between Black and Tom for a moment. Tom tightened his grip on Black's shoulder. For some reason this caused her to take a step closer to him.

"What happened for real?"

"Everything I told you, only I left the part out where I flew out of this notebook and rammed into T.M. With enough force to break my nose some more. And when this happened, I traveled some fifty years into the past."

Dumbledore gave an almost imperceptible jolt. "Repeat that."

"I traveled fifty years into the past."

"From a notebook?"

"Yup. It was kind of…oozy," she offered, biting her lip. "The one I had was oozy. The one here isn't oozying anything. It's totally Muggle."

"Oozing what?"

"Dark magic," she replied. "I can feel and see it."

"Magical gift," Dumbledore murmered as if it was nothing more than being able to breathe.

Tom would kill to be able to see magic. He could feel it. It felt tangible in his hands, it caressed his skin and crackled all over him. But, he never saw it. It explained why Black was always looking at something around Tom rather than at Tom when his magic swelled.

"So, this diary was the exact same one that Mr. Riddle is in possession of?"

Black nodded slowly. "Only his had writing in it. The one I had was blank. Except for the name T.M. Riddle in the front. It also ate ink. Since his isn't eating ink, I would expect his is normal."

Dumbledore extended his head towards her. "Interesting. I've not come across time travel in this manner."

Black bit her bottom lip, frown appearing.

"I'm afraid you are stuck here till we figure out how Mr. Riddle's diary brought you here," Dumbledore said, stabbing Tom with a look he couldn't read.

"I'm not giving you my diary," Tom said. "It's a Muggle book. I write in it. With a fountain pen."

Tom put on an innocent, yet outraged face.

"And yet, Miss Riddle burst out of your diary," Dumbledore said.

Tom suddenly realized they had failed to tell Dumbledore one key thing: Black wasn't actually his sister or any sort of relation. It almost made sense not to tell Dumbledore, as he must know due to the fact Black kept referring to Tom as T.M. It was better than _Tom. _He ought to insist people call him T.M.

Dumbledore was pinning Tom with a look he did not like. Rethinking what Dumbledore had said, Tom knew there was a much deeper meaning behind the words. Obviously, at some point, Tom planned to do something to the diary that was sinister and nefarious that would dump the idiot child next to him in his lap.

Whatever he had done, he sure was not going to do it now. No time traveling spells.

Why would he even put a time travel spell on the diary in the first place? Tom had no interest in time travel. Or bringing people back from the future. While he was interested to know what became of him, he knew enough about the theory of time travel to know it was not something to be messed with. Whatever future Black knew was in jeopardy now that she was here in the past.

"Maybe someone stole it?" Black blurted out. "The name was rather smudged. And it was blank. It could have been magically wiped, made into whatever it was and then left—"

Black stopped talking rather abruptly, slowly turning to look at Tom. Her oddly colored eyes were wide, her eyeballs almost bulging out of the sockets as she looked at Tom as if seeing him for the first time.

"No," she breathed. "That's not possible."

"Anything is possible in the future, Miss Riddle," Dumbledore said serenely. "What is it you're worried about?"

She shook her head, slowly inching away from Tom. He frowned and doubled his grip on his shoulder. Having been abnormally nice (so nice his skin was crawling) to her since she'd rudely burst out of his diary, there was absolutely no reason for her to be afraid. He felt her magic, which had been floating rather absently around her, draw within her tightly.

She was looking at him like—

Oh.

Tom had to stop himself from grinning mantically. He bottled up his sense of power, sense of victory.

He was a feared Dark Lord in the future. Lord Voldemort succeeded.

He itched to question her on what she knew of Lord Voldemort, but refrained. He did not want to put into peril what she knew to be the future by figuring out what became of him in the present.

Black trained her features back to her pureblood mask and turned to Dumbledore. She glanced up at Tom once more out of the corner of her eyes before setting her mouth in a determined expression.

"The future can be rewritten," she announced.

No. He dug his fingernails into her shoulder. She winced imperceptibly. Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. Tom loosened his grip.

"Time is fluid. Certain points in time are fixed, like major events," the girl went on. She frowned, getting a peculiar expression. "I think Draco's a time traveller. He seems way too old. And he has this haunted look in his eyes. Harry, whose life sucks in general, doesn't even have that."

Black suddenly glared up at Tom, as if it were his fault Harry's life was such a disaster. Dumbledore watched with an amused expression.

"I do not know much about time, other than it's confusing. However, time is making fools out of us, as I am sure your nurse would much enjoy to give you your potions and send us on our way."

"Us?" Tom asked.

"Certainly. You've discovered your long lost half sister— or whatever her actual relation to you happens to be— and now she's known to the Ministry of Magic. I'm sure her name will appear on a list of students to be accepted this fall. I believe it best if you both come to Hogwarts for the remaining holiday."

Tom balled his free hand into a tight fist. He was supposed to be a natural genius, how did he end up in this disaster? He had plans for this summer. Important Voldemort related plans.

Wait. If he were at Hogwarts, he'd be able to do magic. He'd be able to charm the diary without the fear of students finding him.

Black looked at Tom questionably.

"So, what's the story? We share the same Dad? Different Mum?"

"Yes."

He was stuck with the child. He studied her for a moment. Her magic was still tightly wrapped up within her. Dumbledore's radiated off him, the lightness of it causing Tom's to crackle across his skin in protest.

"Where is your mother?" Dumbledore asked. "Best work out that detail, as Mr. Riddle's mother is deceased."

Black was quiet for a moment while Tom studied Dumbledore. He would keep an annoying eye on him once they were back at Hogwarts. But, the child might serve as a distraction, as he had a feeling she was highly splentic and full of energy.

"She was killed while we were in France," Black announced. She got an excited look a bout her and shouted, "Isla Black was disowned for marring a Muggleborn named Bob Hitchens!"

Dumbledore looked rather surprised Black knew this information, as he did not know she was a Black by birth, thus would know the Black family tree.

"She had children, they were wizards and witches and hence my Black like looks."

A frown appeared between Dumbledore's eyebrows. Tom sent out a pulse of magic towards Black to get her attention instead of further gripping her bony shoulder. She jumped a little, turning to look at Tom. He smiled sweetly at her.

"That's a good story, as I guess I can see you do have a little Black in you," he offered, giving her a pointed look. He dropped his hand from her shoulder. "How did you end up with the Riddle side?"

"Mum, a one Andromeda Hitchens, had a tryst with a Riddle, and was landed with me, and exiled herself to France when he rejected her upon finding out she was a witch."

That story sounded too close to home. Tom glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded.

"We've lived with a bunch of ex-pats in France, hence the accent, but due to the war with the Germans and Grindlewald, I've wound up here after Mum died. I managed to escape due to a burst of accidentally magic that caused me to Apparate to T.M.!"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Tom. Tom looked at Dumbledore's shoulder challengingly.

"That is a clever story. I do now notice the rather strong Black family traits. I am sure our many Black students will notice, so bravo for working them in. It would be best if you kept your real origins to yourself."

Black nodded.

"Time is very tricky thing, Miss Riddle," Dumbledore said, looking carefully at Black.

"Time and fish," Black announced.

Dumbledore chuckled. He looked between Tom and Black for a few more moments, deciding to leave whatever was bothering him for later.

"Well, I think we'll let the nurse back in and allow her to give you your potions," Dumbledore began, looking back at Black. "Then we can head to Hogwarts."

Black slid back up on the bed and said, "Sounds peachy to me. T.M.?"

She smiled sweetly at him. He gave her a smirk and turned to Dumbledore.

"That would be fine," Tom cooly agreed, keeping his face blank. "Will I be allowed to gather my belongings?"

"Of course. We will stop by the orphanage. I will tell them you will be heading to school early. I take it they did not notice Miss Riddle?"

Tom nodded.

"All right. Are you ready, Miss Riddle?"

"This will be so totally awesome!" Black answered as Dumbledore opened the door to reveal the nurse. "Hogwarts without any students!"

Tom did not like the look in Black's eye in the least.


	4. The Silence of This

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it will be "Tiny Toon Adventures Theme Song" written by Bruce Broughton, Tom Ruegger and Wayne Kaatz or "Be Our Guest" written by Alan Menken and lyrics by Howard Ashman, or "Never Smile at a Crocodile" words by Jack Lawrence and music by Frank Churchill or "The Song That Never Ends" written by Norman Martin (using the lyrics used from ****_Lamb Chop's Play Along_****). I own none of that. Or Harry Potter. I'll take claim for Atlanta.**

**A/N: Thank you for all the follows, favorites and reviews! **

* * *

Singing.

Tom could hear singing.

He always heard singing.

Night and day.

Day and night.

While he was thankful Black had managed to wrangle it he could go to Hogwarts for the remainder of the summer, it came with a high price: her constant singing.

No matter where in the castle Tom located himself, he could either hear her or feel her. Singing. The magic she produced when she wanted seeped into his skin, no matter where the hell she was.

He could handle it when he couldn't HEAR her, but when his ears were bombarded by the same five songs on constant loop, he had a breaking point. While he would admit, under duress and torture— meaning never— she could sing, he was going to begin to yank his hair out soon.

She claimed she knew more than fives songs, but he swore it was only five. And he'd never heard of them before and they were all Muggle songs. There was the Smile Song, the Rainbow Song, the Chimney Song, a song about yesterday and tomorrow, the Under the Sea song she sang in the Slytherin Common room on loop. She turned up her nose each time someone tried to introduce her to a few wizard standards. That little pert nose turned up and she insisted the wizarding society was stuck in the Barque period.

Dumbledore encouraged her. He even LEARNED THE SONGS and SUNG WITH HER. Dumbledore's favorite song was the One That Never Ended. Seriously, it NEVER ENDED. It looped over and over till you wanted to stuff your ears with cotton.

_This is the song that doesn't ends, yes it goes on and on my friends. Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it because this is the song that doesn't ends…._

Great. Now it was on loop in his head. AGAIN.

Slamming his head down on the desk in the library where he was trying to research spells for his diary project that would PREVENT her from ever showing up in his life, he could hear her stomping around and singing at the top of her lungs about how mean Mr. Grinch happened to be. Trying to get the Never Ending Song out of his head, he listened to what she was singing.

Who the hell was Mr. Grinch?

The more she sang the song, he got a sinking feeling it was a song she'd made up about him. Mr. Grinch was a cuddly cactus, had a heart full of unwashed socks, a monster, and had an empty hole for a heart. And clearly filled it with the unwashed socks.

All things that described Tom, in a creative childish manner. Except the unwashed sock thing. He had no heart, but did not fill the space with unwashed socks. How unsanitary.

How did having garlic in his soul make him a grinch? How could he have garlic in his soul? It was impossible.

Like many of the things in her stupid song. There were no termites in his smile, thank you very much.

Where did she come up with this insane babble?

A sea sick crocodile? Could a crocodile be sea sick?

Oh, wait, she switched songs. Tom listened for a moment and realized she was now singing about never smiling at a crocodile.

"_Never smile at a crocodile, never tip your hat and stop to talk awhile! Never run, walk away, say good-night, not good-day. Clear the aisle, but never smile at Mister Crocodile." _

"CALLIOPE!" Tom bellowed, his voice booming around the library.

He was sure if there was actually someone around to supervise them, her singing and dancing in the library would not be allowed, nor would his daily bellowing at her. Tom actually missed the librarian.

"TEEEEEE!" she sung loudly back at him, somehow making her voice even louder. He felt the magical pulse behind it hit him square in the forehead. He blinked a few times, feeling silly. Why was he yelling again? "_We're tiny, we're toony, we're all a little loony and in this cartoony, we're invading your Teeeeeeee Veeeeeeeee!"_

Ah, yes.

"SHUT UP."

Silence rang.

Tom let out a sigh. Glorious silence.

The door slammed.

She left. Thank Salazar.

Tom threw up a silence ward around him and waited. So far all the wards he had attempted did not withstand her power. The magic still hit him. After waiting a moment, he felt nothing. Smiling, Tom went back to reading his book, taking detailed notes. The charms he wanted to put on his diary were difficult and he needed to be very careful about which ones he used, due to the fact Dumbledore was now even more suspicious of him. While he had not taken Tom's diary away, Tom knew Dumbledore was just waiting for him to murder Black or something.

Too bad she was a pureblood. He'd feed her to his snake in the Chamber in a heartbeat otherwise. Snickering darkly, Tom pulled another book towards him. Black in the Chamber of Secrets….she's more than likely sing the snake to death.

Best not feed her to the snake.

He worked for almost three wonderful hours in silence till he felt the singing. His head fell into his book. He felt her voice's force dancing over his skin again, tickling him and tell him to go the Great Hall. Growling, he slammed the book shut. It was a very old book, so dust rose up out of it. He quickly stood up and stormed out of the library, slamming the door loudly behind him. He paused for a moment, pulling out his wand. He knew he couldn't exactly hex the brat (as he was the only student here at the moment, and none of the professors would hex Black due to the fact they failed to find her irritating), but holding his wand allowed him to curse or blow something else up.

He reached the Entrance Hall, where he found Black, several ghosts and some of the professors and teaching assistants were standing around. He stared, grinding his teeth together. Black stood in the center of the group, dressed in what appeared to be a Louis XIV era male costume. She even wore a white powder wig on her head in the style men wore back then. She seemed to be waiting for something. Dumbledore stood in the doorway to the Great Hall, and wand hanging loosely by his side. Black noticed Tom and smiled.

It was not a smile Tom liked. It was full of mischief.

Tom hated mischief.

_"Má chere Mademoiselle, it is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you tonight. And now we invites you to relax, let us pull up a chair as the dining room proudly presents," _Calliope sung in a rather bad French accent, backing up into the Great Hall. "_Your dinner._"

Grinning like an idiot, she went on singing as she flounced into the Great Hall. The castles residences all followed her into the dining room. Dumbledore flicked his wand a few times, smiling and twinkling like mad. Tom stomped down the stairs, still clutching his wand. He entered the Great Hall and stopped clenching his jaw.

Dumbledore somehow charmed the plates, goblets, and silverware to dance. There was something more though as Tom watched. The dinnerware was reacting to Black as she sung, taking on a life of their own past the spell Dumbledore had cast upon them.

How was she doing this?

The adults were all chuckling or looking simply amazed while Black sung her way through the song, which seemed to be about servants serving dinner. (Who would make up a song about servants serving dinner?) Tom had no idea where she'd found the other singing voices, as she seemed to have a whole chorus behind her. He looked around, but no one else was singing.

Where in the name of Salazar had that idiot child learn magic? She had not even been in school for a full month before she exploded out of his diary! How on earth did she have such control over that mysterious voice magic. He could only feel it in a very subtle manner at the moment prance across his skin. It didn't make him feel anything, but he could tell she was putting force into what she was doing by how the things around her were reacting.

Tom clenched his fists.

"_Life is so unnerving for a servant whose not serving, he's not whole without a soul to wait upon. Ah, those good old days when we were useful. Suddenly those good old days are gone. Ten years, we've been rusting, needing so much more than dusting, needing exercise, a chance to use our skills," _Atlanta sang out, jumping up on the platform where the Head Table sat. She slumped down suddenly. "_Most days we just lay around the castle. Flabby, fat and lazy. You walked in and oops-a-daisy_!"

She pretended to trip, falling back down, and vanishing into the crowd of dancing flatware.

Where did all the dishes come from?

"You never told me you had a talented sister," a voice said in Tom's ear.

Tom froze, slowly turning to find Slughorn staring into the Great Hall, watching the show Black was putting on for the crowd.

"Dumbledore told me she was bothering you while you were researching this afternoon, so he helped entertain her," Slughorn chuckled. "She told him about this clever song. Where does she find all these wonderful Muggle songs?"

Tom did not bother to answer. He wasn't about to tell Slughorn Black was from the future and had a whole library in her head of music from her lifetime. At least this song wasn't one of the five she annoyed him with on a daily basis.

"Dumbledore said she created the dancing charm for the dishes and flatware. Only failed to have the power to pull it off on this scale," Slughorn announced. "Guess those genes are strong, huh?"

Tom gave an uncomfortable smile, turning his attention back to the Great Hall, where Black had appeared again. She looked like she was hanging off a light fixture, only there wasn't one in the Great Hall. Suddenly slightly fearful for some reason, Tom tried to figure out what she was hanging from in the air. She was actually fearful of flying and flat out refused to learn to use a broom.

Peeves set her down on the Ravenclaw table.

She got Peeves to help her?!

"_Be our guest! Be our guest! Please be our guest!" _Black and her invisible chorus finished.

The crowd clapped for her and Black beamed, suddenly sweeping her wand out of her sleeve, and the dishes, goblets, and flatware all fell to the table. It looked like the Great Hall was ready for dinner during the school year. Dumbledore appeared and aided Black down from the table, where several other teachers approached the pair to compliment on the pre-dinner entertainment.

"She's starting at Hogwarts this fall, correct?" Slughorn questioned, bouncing on his heels while he waited for the crowd around Black to die down.

"Correct," Tom replied, trying to keep the anger out of his tone. "I didn't realize she was a show off."

"Ho, ho! She's just a child," Slughorn said. "I bet she is used to having other children to play with."

Tom made a non-committed noise. Dumbledore waved his own wand and the tables arranged themselves as they'd been so far all summer, just one table for everyone. Slughorn hurried off to recruit Tom's dear sister to the Slug Club. Groaning, Tom turned on his heel and stalked off.


	5. Finding Answers is Forgetting

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. **

_Edited and reloaded 15 July 2013_

* * *

**_Finding Answers is Forgetting_**

* * *

"T.M.?"

"Go away."

Tom waited for the snippy comeback or for her to continue on talking without permission. Instead, he heard a chair scrap across the floor and the sound of her shoes walking off. Looking up, he saw her hair whip around the corner. Shortly after this, the door to the library opened and shut.

Stunned, Tom sat back and stared in front of him.

She'd left.

The silence of the library rung out, making his ears ring.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Leave me alone."

Silence.

Looking up, he saw her go across the Slytherin Common room and sit in a corner, picking up the guitar she'd kept from the stranger at the hospital. She settled into the chair. She hit the strings a few times, the notes softened from the manner she was holding the guitar. She plucked out a melody. She continued to play the unknown melody and didn't start singing.

Grinding his teeth, Tom went back to reading the book he'd been reading before she interrupted him. He continued to read about magical objects that store ones soul away from the body to prolong life.

It was utterly fascinating.

He wanted more information on these items, but even the books in the Restricted Section shied away from these wonderful objects. They were seen as "evil."

Tom hated the world's ridiculous concepts of good and evil.

* * *

It had been three days since Black had spoken to him. Tom saw her. She flittered around him, passing, humming softly, but she never asked him what he was doing. She stopped singing and dancing around. She had ceased to pester him.

Something was wrong.

He searched the castle for her one dreary summer afternoon. It was raining, causing the castle to feel muggy and sticky. Tom kept trying to talk himself out of searching for her, but he knew Black was plotting something. When he least expected it, she was going to pounce and ruin his work on his diary. His research into the charms he wished to use had stalled now she had stopped pestering him.

And he had hit a road block on his research on the magical soul containers. He'd read every book he could find, yet still did not know how to _make_ one.

Tom found her sitting in a window seat on the fourth floor. She was tucked into the corner, her legs tucked under her. She wasn't wearing a skirt. She was wearing trousers. Tom assumed were part of the boy's uniform as they looked like the ones he was wearing. She was wearing a plain button down dress shirt, her hair spilling over her shoulders and shielding what she was doing in her lap.

"What are you doing?" Tom demanded.

She slowly looked up at him. He stepped closer to discover she was writing music. She had made her own sheet music to record the melody she was forever humming and strumming out on her guitar. There were other scraps of parchment in front of her with words scribbled all over them.

"I'm trying to get this song out of my head," she informed him, not at all bothered by his demand. "It's been on mind since I got here. The words keep changing, but the melody remains the same. I hear it all the time, even when I try to sing something else."

He noted her ears were rather red as she tucked her hair behind them.

"That's why I've been so annoying. Singing loudly and stuff. It was getting annoying, having this one melody in my head all the time. So, I gave up. I'll write it down. I wonder if this is how Mozart felt?"

Tom quirked an eyebrow.

Black moved, knocking a few of the pieces of parchment to the ground. She cleared a spot and patted it, indicating for Tom to sit.

For some unknown reason, he found himself sitting. She showed him the parchment she'd written the music.

"It starts off soft. Just one guitar playing."

She hummed the notes for him. It was a simple melody, haunting.

"It goes on for the verses, building a little louder after each. As it progresses I hear strings and piano joining in. That's what this is."

She pointed at different page that had a different arrangement of notes.

"Then, before the chorus, the piano has a small solo."

She hummed out the solo, dancing over the notes.

Something strange was happening as she explained what she heard in her head to him. Tom had heard of musical geniuses before. He was sure the greatest composers heard music in their heads, the complicated arrangements and exactly what instruments were doing what. It explained how a deaf Beethoven was able to still write brilliant music. What it did not explain was how this annoying, seemingly ordinary witch was making him hear it in his head. Tom was a genius, but not a musical genius. He hardly knew anything about music other than the bare basics.

Music was frivolous.

"Then as the chorus is sung, the guitar joins, being the loudest. As it progresses, background vocals start."

She hummed those house opened mouth saying "Ah."

"The guitar and piano continue, joined by strings softly near the end."

She hummed the strings melody out. In his head, he began to hear the layers she was humming out for him. He felt like someone was pushing something cold over his head.

"The second time through the chorus, though, the entire band joins in. String, piano, guitars— basses, rhythm, electric, acoustic— and drums. It creates a huge sound, full of life and emotion. The background vocals also continue, building."

Tom heard all this. He could not begin to grasp how this worked. He couldn't feel the magic she usually produced when she sung, as she wasn't actually singing any words. But each time she hummed it out for him, he could hear what she was describing.

"Then, for the end, it goes off. All the other instruments die down, leaving the lone guitar behind."

She hummed the last few notes of the song and trailed off. She smiled softly then looked up at him. He could tell by her expression she was waiting for him to respond.

He stood up. He did not understand what was happening to him, nor did he want to grasp it. Without another word, he strode away from her.

* * *

A week later, he stared at what he was holding. Instead of finishing his charmed diary, instead of trying to translate the next few Dark Arts books he'd discovered buried in the Restricted Section, he'd been working to charm a guitar. Tom told himself he was doing this in order to get the child out of his hair, to make her go away for good. If the melody was the reason she was annoying, he was going to give her a better quality guitar. She could play it and get it out of her head.

Tom had started with the transformed guitar she'd gotten from some random person in the hospital waiting room. It was crappy. He made a better one. Not really knowing what he was doing, he began to add spells and charms so the object would make more noise, a bigger sound, play various instruments. It would be able to sound like a piano, drums, background vocals, different types of guitars and many other things.

Tom had no idea if the idiot child could play it, but something told him her magic would tell her what to do. He poured some of his own magic into it, not knowing exactly why he was doing it.

He had no idea if the guitar would work, as he didn't know how to play.

Nothing about Atlanta Black sat right with Tom.

He did not understand why he put up with her. Why he did not kill her after she appeared out of the diary? He did not ask her questions about the future. He did not hex her. He allowed her to annoy him.

He stared at the guitar in front of him. Tom had never made something for someone else.

This made no sense.

Nothing made sense.

Tom felt his anger build.

He stood up and stormed out of his room.

* * *

"Here."

"Where did you get this?"

"I made it."

"You made it?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I made it so you will never annoy me again. Now, go somewhere far away and get out of my hair. Now."

"I've never seen a guitar like this."

"Out. Remember to put wards up before you start singing."

"Thank you, T.M."

The blasted child kissed his cheek and skipped off.

* * *

Even with her out of his hair, locked and warded away in a different part of the castle, the melody haunted him. It wrapped around him, caressed his skin. He could see the notes jump around in his mind's eye before sleeping. He felt her magic wrap tightly around him and knew she was playing the song.

He did not understand why he always knew when she played it.

He did not like it.

* * *

"Tom, did you know there are people with such strong speaking skills, they enchant people each time they give a speech?"

Tom put on his blank mask and turned his head towards Dumbledore. It was dinner time and in the summers the inhabitants of the castle all ate together at one long table. Dumbledore had chosen the seat next to Tom this evening, much to Tom's annoyance. Black was seated on his other side, excitedly talking with Professor Merrythought, who shared her love of music it seemed.

"Some people mistake this power for charm," Dumbledore went on, not waiting Tom to respond. "In fact, the more proficient the orator, the stronger the enchantment power can be. It is how one person can sway a whole country."

"Like Hitler," Black offered, breaking her conversation with Merrythought. "I read he was a great speech giver. To hear him speak, you'd start to believe what he was preaching even if you were against it. His speech giving skills were the main reason he was able to sway the Germans over and get a lot of what he wanted."

Tom noticed her slip in tense, but no one else seemed to.

"Correct," Dumbledore twinkled at her.

"He's a Muggle," Tom stated flatly.

"Correct, as well, Tom. He is a Muggle. That, though, does not mean he lacks magic. He simply cannot access it as you or I am able to. Great speakers, great singers, great performers— Muggle or wizard— all manage to access magic. Muggles without realization."

"How can Muggles possess magic?" Tom sneered.

"Muggleborns," someone else at the table suggested. "Muggles can come from a line of purebloods. Squibs. They have magical blood, they are unable to access it though. Many Muggles have a little magic within, they simply do not realize it. It is how they sometimes do great feats without knowing how."

"In the end, we are all very similar. We have different degrees of magic," Dumbledore explained.

Tom knew the old coot was trying to tell him something very different than the actual topic of conversation. Tom ignored it, though, and focused on the power behind words. Spoken or sung.

"It's not only the words, Tom," Dumbledore said, using his creepy ability to know what Tom was thinking. "It's the magic and intent behind what comes out of the mouth. You don't need a spell to use magic. Take Calliope. When she hums, magic comes out of her mouth even if she doesn't puts magic behind it. What effects people is when she puts her intent behind it, her emotions."

"That is all great and wonderful, Albus, but you cannot force people to believe in something with this sort of magic. If that is even what it is," one of the other professors started. "It cannot be harness. It's a wild magic. It only enhances the emotions of those already hearing it. If there is any degree of sympathy, that is how the sway happens. I've heard Grindewald speak many times. It's rumored he has this skill. I have yet been swayed to a degree where I will believe in what he does."

There were a murmur of response.

Tom thought hard. He stared at Black, who was watching the debate happening now with wide eyes. He smirked.

He had research to do.

But, first, he had to finish his summer plans. Then, he would move on. Black, tragically, wasn't going anywhere. He had gotten her out of his hair for the time being since giving her the magical guitar. As long as she did not make him mad, she would be safe till he could harness her power. He would not just use her for this power, he would harness it for himself.

He needed to research how to tie her to him. Permanently.


	6. Questions We Call Home

**Disclaimer: Portions of dialouge come from ****_Half Blood Pirnce_****, written by JKR. "Shattered" is by Trading Yesterday. (The song Atlanta is singing during the conversation is the song she's writing, hence why the lyrics are a bit changed up, but the orginal song was written by someone else not me.) "DuckTales Theme Song" is written by Mark Mueller. Once again, if you know it, I do not own it.**

_Edited and reloaded 15 July 2013_

* * *

**_Questions We Call Home_**

* * *

"Is that it?"

Her tone of voice said it all.

Disgusting.

Tom swallowed, not looking down at Black. She hadn't needed to come with him. Grinding his back teeth together he stared at the shack that sat in the clearing in the corpse of trees. He startled when he felt a small hand take his. He looked down to find the brat staring up at him with her huge amber eyes. She threw her too long fringe out of her eyes and studied him carefully.

"We can leave."

"No. I have to go in," Tom snapped, turning his head back in the direction of the shack.

"Did you know there's this game Muggles in the future play called MASH?"

"No. Of course I don't," Tom sneered.

She still had his hand.

Why was he not pushing her away and getting this over with?

"Well, it's this weird game you play with paper and is very juvenile and would drive you bonkers, but the last time I played it I was destined to live in a shack. MASH stands for Mansion, Apartment, Shack or House. You find out where you live, what career you'll have out of your choices and who'll you're marry. I always got the shack. People thought it was funny because a Black would never live in a shack."

Tom gave her a dark look. She smiled at him. She tugged him a bit and he tore his hand from her grasp. For some reason this did not bother her in the least and she continued to walk as if nothing had happened.

At least she wasn't humming. Or singing.

They approached the door, which had a dead, rotting snake nailed to the door. A horrible smell reached Tom's nose. It reeked. The whole placed smelled of mold, rotting food and filth.

"Well, I'm so glad I wore my best clothes," Black muttered. "Are you sure your glorious pureblood relatives live here?"

Tom did not answer.

"Is there anyone in there?" Black asked, getting on her tiptoes to peek in the dirty window. She snorted in distaste. She fell back onto her heels, looking over at Tom.

"Stay out here."

Black opened her mouth to protest, but Tom gave her his harshest look. It was a face that usually put fear into people. Black nodded and sighed. She carefully pulled out an odd object contraption that gave her light out of her pocket and took a step closer to the shack till she was leaning against the outer wall. She reached into her coat pocket (she'd had Dumbledore or something transfigure a cloak into a Muggle style coat with never ending pockets) and pulled out a small lantern. She handed it to Tom, then took a candle out. She grinned in the fading sunlight and licked her fingers.

"Watch this," she said, getting that odd mischievous look about her.

Putting her spit soaked fingers on the wick, she pulled up and the candle lit. Tom stared at her.

"How did you do that?" he demanded.

She smirked. This shocked him further, as it was a smirk worthy of a Slytherin.

"Magic."

She opened the lamp and stuck the candle in.

"Off you go, me boyo," she said in a very thick Irish accent.

Tom narrowed his eyes but said nothing in response. He knocked loudly on the door, eyeing Black out of the corner of his eye.

_Why could she not just stay at Hogwarts? Why did she follow me?_

Annoyance rose up in him, as no response came to his knock and his so call dear sister was standing off to the side, witnessing this horrifying, disgusting shack. At least she was finally silent.

Tom glanced at Black once more before deciding to open the door. Swallowing and taking a deep breath, as he assumed the inside would smell worse than the outside, Tom pushed the door open. It made a very loud creaking noise as he opened it. Tom took a few steps into the hovel, his eyes sweeping over the small room. It was utterly….revolting. The floor had a layer of grime so thick Tom assumed no one had thought of cleaning it in centuries. The ceiling was covered in thick cobwebs and there was molding and rotting food out on the table. There were dirty pots all over the table, like the inhabitants failed to understand the concept of washing dishes.

Behind him, Tom heard Black gag. Looking behind him, she was still out of sight.

The smell must be strong. Breathing through his mouth, Tom held the lamp up higher, as the only light inside came from one lone candle. There was a weak fire going in the fireplace, but the light it gave off was pathetic.

"YOU!" bellowed a voice from somewhere near the fire.

Holding the lamp up again, he noticed there was a man in the room. He staggered up, knocking the many empty bottles in his lap to the ground. They hit the floor as he drunkenly staggered upright.

"YOU!"

The deranged, ugly man whose eyes weren't even pointing in the right directions, hurtled wobbly at Tom, wand and knife held aloft.

"**Stop**," Tom snapped in Parseltongue.

This stopped the man in his tracks and he skidded into the table, sending the contents of the deplorable object crashing to the floor. Curling his lip, Tom took a step backwards. Tearing his eyes off the ground, he looked at the man, his blank mask of indifference firmly in place on his face.

"**You speak it?**"

"**Yes, I speak it," **Tom answered, slowly moving forward. He allowed the door to close behind him, further locking Black out of the conversation. He doubted she'd understand it either way if it continued in Parseltounge. He was amazed he hadn't heard a shocked gasp when he began speaking. Most people did not respond favorably when they heard Parseltounge for the first time.

Once the fresh air was cut off, the smell inside was ten times worst. Disgust and disappointment swirled around within Tom as he continued to stare at the man who leaned heavily against the table.

"**Where is Marvolo?"** Tom demanded.

"**Dead**," the man answered. **"Died years ago, didn't he?"**

Damn it.

"**Who are you?**"

**"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"**

**"Marvolo's son?"**

Well, at least the Gaunts hadn't died out, Tom thought.

**"'Course I am, then…"**

The man, Morfin Gaunt, pushed his greasy, dirty hair out of his face. This action allowed the light from the lamp to catch on a black-stoned ring on Morfin's finger. Tom's eyes locked on the ring. He felt possession rise up within his soul, pulling him towards the ring.

"**I thought you were that Muggle. You look mighty like that Muggle.**"

Tom snapped to attention, looking at Morfin, who was still holding his hair out of his dirty face to better see Tom.

**"What Muggle?"**

**"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way,"**Morfin informed Tom, spitting on the floor rather randomly.

This was his uncle? This was the last pureblood descendant of the mightily Salazar Slytherin?

**"You look right like him. Riddle."**

Tom's insides froze.

**"But he's older now, in'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it…"**

Tom stared at the man as he swayed back and forth a bit, looking dazed and drunk. He was holding onto the table for support, no longer holding his hair out of his face.

**"He come back, see,"** Morfin dumbly added.

Silence fell as Tom gazed at Morfin. He faintly heard singing. He suppressed a sigh. He knew Black would not be able to remain silent for long. Soon he felt a caress come across his face, travel down and settle on the palm of his hand before it wrapped itself around his hand.

_"As reason clouds my eyes, with splendor fading." _

Tom appraised Morfin. The man's magic felt weak. Very weak. Almost non existent and it was not trained or molded. It felt almost as wild as a young child. Black was stronger than this so called pureblood royalty.

_"A reflection of a lie, will keep me waiting with love gone, for so long."_

"**Do you hear singin'?**"Morfin asked, looking confused. Tom knew Morfin no doubt felt the magic in the air caused by Black's singing, even it if was aimed at Tom. He could still feel her magic wrapped around his free hand. He tried to shake it off, but it hung on stubbornly.

Tom took a few steps closer to Morfin. "**Riddle came back?**"

_"And this day's ending is the proof of time killing all the faith I had, knowing that faith was all I had."_

"**Ar, he left her, and served her right, marrying filth!" **Morfin spat, spitting on the ground at Tom's feet.

Tom didn't back up, but stood strong. He felt a swell of magic burst, but couldn't pick out if it was his or Black's.

_"And I've lost who I am, and I can't understand…"_

"**Robbed us, mind, before she ran off!"**

_"Why my heart is so broken."_

**"Where's the locket, eh? Where is Slytherin's locket?"** Morfin demanded.

Tom froze. Locket? Slytherin had a locket and his mother had it? Keeping his eyes locked on Morfin, who was working himself into a rage, his ears only heard Black outside the window, her melodic voice somehow allowing him to keep his anger at bay so he could think clearly.

Ironic.

_"Rejecting all I thought to be true, lifeless words carried on. And with all I know is that the end's beginning."_

**"Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit…It's over…"**

_"Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart. Let me go and I will run, I will not be silent."_

Tom stared at the man, his uncle. His blood-relative. His living link to Slytherin, the so called pureblood who wasn't filth.

_"All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain." _

Morfin looked away, staggering slightly against the table again, upsetting the contents of the table again.

"_All is lost, hope remains and your war's not over_."

Morfin lost his grip on the table and crashed loudly into the it, bringing everything down on top of him. Tom curled his lip in disgust. The door banged open behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he noticed Black standing in the doorway, her odd light contraption out and pointed at him.

"I thought I told you to remain outside."

"Well, after the hissing shouting stopped and things began crashing, I decided to risk it," Black snapped. "I might throw up."

"Stay outside."

"What do you plan on doing, Tee?" Black asked, ignoring Tom's order.

Tom set the lamp on the ground. He bent down, resting on the back of his heels, studying his foul uncle. Sneering he began to think. He had come to find his wizarding relatives. He was sorely disappointed with what he had found. Other than he could get that ring— which should be on his finger, not this execrable excuse for a wizard— the trip might have been wasted except for one key thing Morfin had said: Riddle.

"He mentioned there was a Muggle in the village who looks like me."

Tom felt Black's magic rather than heard her as she moved to be closer to him. Because of this, he wasn't shocked when he felt her small, warm hand on his shoulder.

"_Might solve a mystery, or rewrite history_," she sung quietly. Tom felt the crackle of magic across his skin as a warning.

He stood up, harshly knocking Black backwards. He was at a junction, a turning point in the road. Black continued to hum for a moment. Tom stared into the darkness of the shack blankly.

He thought about the actual words Black had just sung. Did she know something about his Muggle father? He glanced at her, she was still humming softly and not looking at him. He turned away from her to think.

He had no reason to go searching for his Muggle relatives. He wanted nothing to do with them.

"_When it seems they're heading for final curtain, good deduction never fails, that's for certain. The worst of messes becomes successes."_

Tom turned sharply and stared down at Black. She had a hard glint in her amber eyes. The light caught them just so, they flashed.

Suddenly, his conviction wavered.

"What song is that?"

"The theme song to a cartoon called 'DuckTales.'"

"Duck tails? What do duck tails have to do with anything you just sung?"

"Tales, like in stories. It's a cartoon about a bunch of ducks who solve mysteries and go on adventures," Black explained.

Tom stormed out of the shack. The smell and lack of air was making him feel like the walls were closing in on him. He had almost seriously considered not doing what he knew was required.

"What are you going to do?" Black called.

He stalked further into the clearing in front of the shack, ramming his hands through his hair. He didn't care he was messing up his carefully styled hair. He yanked on his hair, the pain clearing his head a bit.

Back and forth, up and down. What was wrong with him lately? He was overflowing with emotions. Emotions were weak! They clouded judgement. Now was not the time to get all emotional.

Emotions still swelled within.

"He said the Muggle's name was Riddle, Black!" Tom shouted in a burst of suppressed rage, anger, and longing.

The sun had finally vanished, leaving an inky sky in its wake. Stars were beginning to come out, but the moon had yet to rise, so the clearing was bathed in darkness. To Tom, it felt comforting. He felt himself begin to calm.

"Oh," he heard from behind him.

He turned sharply, whipping his wand out and aiming it at Black. His fingers inched to curse her, to make her wither in pain because life was not fair.

His father was a Muggle.

Black was a sodding pureblood. Her family was ancient, proud, rich and she looked NORMAL. Her family had mansions, lands, jewels and gold by the bucketful.

His mother was a pureblood and lived in rags. Her family was pour, drunk and filthy. The conditions she lived in were deplorable. The forsaken orphanage was better than the shack.

"_You lost who you thought you were, and you can't understand," _Black sung very quietly. Her voice danced over the summer breeze towards him, the words stabbing him in the chest, tightening around him in a hug. "_Why your heart is broken, rejecting all love without love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on."_

His wand began to shake.

_"But I know, all I know, there's light at the end. Who you are from the start, take you home to your heart. Let yourself go and run, you will not be silent."_

Tom tracked Black as she closed the distance between them.

"_All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain. All was lost, hope remains, and your life's not over. There's a light, there's the sun, taking all the shattered ones."_

Black was now standing in front of him, reaching up to close her hand around the tip of his wand.

"_To the place you belong, and you will conquer and you've lost who you are and you can't understand why your heart is so broken, rejecting all love without love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on. But I know all I know is the you're life's beginning_."

She pressed the wand tip into her head, as that was the height he was holding it at. Something within shifted and snapped at the sight of Black at the end of his wand. The anger and hate boiling within him wishing to pour out of his wand into tangible pain withered away. He felt the magic crackle over his skin, seeping through the cracks in his amor and settling within his mind, calming it down further.

Black, while an annoying eleven-year-old (or was she twelve now?) brat, was powerful and unique. She _saw_ magic. She controlled her magic in a way Tom had never witness before. And she was naturally darker than the average person.

Just like him.

Like that ugly ring on Morfin's finger, Tom wanted to possess Black. He wanted her to be what she was pretending, wanted her by his side, using her talents to further his own power, rather than annoy him.

He wanted her to do what she was doing to him at the moment for the rest of his life.

She stopped singing and fell silent. Her magic fell away from him and he took a deep breath.

"T.M.?"

He lowered the wand, his arm hanging limply at his side. He stared down at her in the growing moonlight. He debated for a moment.

"I want to see him at least."

He would come back later and eradicate the worthless Muggles.

"Are we going to be peeping toms?" she joked lightly.

"Sweetheart, don't make Tom jokes," he scolded in a stiff yet somehow playful tone. He looked back at the hovel. "I'm going to make sure he's not dead."

"Okay. I'm going to stand here and hum quietly to myself."

Tom went into the shack and made sure his uncle was breathing. The man was. Tom spotted the wand on the ground and snatched it up. The man did not deserve a wand. Slipping the wand into his pocket, Tom eyed the ugly ring. He pried it off the bloated finger. He moved to the lone candle and studied the ring in the meager light. It was ugly, to say the least, with an odd looking coat of arms. Frowning, Tom thought he'd seen the coat of arms somewhere, but was unable to place it. Annoyed, he pocketed the ring. Turning sharply, he strode out of the cabin. Black was waiting. He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the road.


	7. Reflection of a Lie

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I don't own it. Parts taken from and influenced by ****_Goblet of Fire_**** by JKR.**

_Edited and reloaded 15 July 2013_

* * *

**_Reflection of a Lie_**

* * *

That did not go as planned. Nothing had since _she_ had shown up. It was disgusting. The emotions Tom felt were _weak_.

He kicked her.

It did not make him feel any better. Growling softly, he rolled Black onto her back and dragged her away from the house a bit. He stared at her, debating on his next move. He knelt down next to her, scowling at her peaceful looking face.

It had not been peaceful when she'd been ranting and nagging him a moment ago. What did _she _know about Muggles?

Nothing.

She was a pureblood. A Black. And _American_. She knew _nothing_.

Sneering at her, Tom straightened up. He should have stunned her when they first arrived, though, he did not have Morfin's wand. Just looking at it, he knew it wasn't registered. Looking down at the wand, he snorted again. The wand was weak compared to his own wand. It was inferior.

Just like the Gaunts, the pureblooded wizards and descendants of Slazar Slytherin. How could they allow themselves to become what they were?

It was still a wand and it did work well for him. Though, it would be unable to take all his power. He'd need to be careful or he might break it. This meant controlling his emotions. Something Black did not help in, especially when she started nagging him and whining about _killing_.

How had she even known he was entertaining simply murdering the Riddles off the face of the Earth?

He looked back down at the girl.

He would leave her here. He did not _care_ what happened to her. She might be powerful, she might have something he wanted, but she was too much trouble to be worth what she _might_ be able to give him. Bending back down, he pressed the wand to her head and said, "_Tergebam Mente De Praeterita_."

He put as much power as he dared behind the spell. He had found it in a Dark Arts book on spells that played with the mind. This spell completely wiped her memory in a very controlled manner. Gone was everything that made her Atlanta Black. Gone was her knowledge of being a witch. She was no one.

Blank slate.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned and walked over around to the front of the house. He was going to follow through with his plan. He was going to get rid of anything that linked him to Muggles. And no one would ever know about the Riddles and his link to them. He looked back at where Black was on the ground.

Tom should just kill her.

No. Something inside of him would not allow him to kill her. Shaking it off, he turned back to the mansion in his mists.

It was unfair the Riddles had the wealth. It was the Riddles all his aristocratic features and mannerism steamed from.

Muggles.

With a sneer painting his features, Tom strode to the front door of the mansion with purpose.

* * *

The next morning, Frank Bryce woke up to hear screaming. Sitting up in bed, he looked around before getting dressed quickly. Leaving the small house he lived in on the Riddle property he rushed towards the main house to see what was the matter. The back door was wide open and he spotted the maid running away, screaming bloody murder. Hurrying towards the house, he tripped over something, crashing into the grass nose first.

Cursing, Frank scrambled to his feet, his bad knee giving him trouble as he attempted to stand. He quickly discovered what had caused him to trip: an unconscious girl. He carefully moved her dew damp hair out of her face. She couldn't be older than maybe ten. She was very young and rather well dressed, though she wore no coat. Just a dark purple dress, stockings and highly polished shoes. He made sure she was breathing and felt a wave of relief when he discovered the warm puffs of air coming out of her nose.

Righting himself, he debated for a moment what to do with the girl. He soon heard the wail of sirens as the police made their way to the house, having been alerted by that blasted maid.

Before he could figure out what to do with the girl, he was surrounded by police and was escorted off the property.

As it turned out all three Riddles were lying dead in the drawing room.

And the fact he'd been discovered looming over a body of an unconscious child did not aid Frank Bryce in any manner.

* * *

Detective Inspector Hastings was not having a good day. He'd just gotten the report back on the bodies of the Riddles. It was the strangest report on dead bodies he'd ever read in his entire life. It had been so strange the first three times he'd read it, he made them do it over. This was the fifth time he'd read it. The Riddles had been looked over by many more doctors than anyone thought was logical, but each and every doctor said the same thing. The Riddles had not been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated or harmed at all.

The reports all concluded there was no clear reason why the Riddles were all dead. They were all in perfect health, other than the tiny fact they were all dead. Each doctor said the reason of death might have been terror, as each face was frozen in utter terror.

"You can't be frightened to death," Hastings grumbled. Fright could cause death via failing hearts, but the Riddles all had healthy hearts.

Throwing the folder down on top of the others, Hastings leaned back in his chair, causing his office to fill with the creaking noise of the wood protesting under his weight. His eyes fell on the report of the girl they'd found at the feet of Frank Bryce, the only suspect in the murder of the Riddles.

Could he even call it murder?

The girl had no clue who she was or how she'd come to be unconscious outside the Riddle House, thus she was worthless in the case.

She knew how to read, do basic math, and was rather well spoken for an American. That was the really strange thing, she had a crisp American accent, one that came from one of those southern states. Like you heard in the films when they wanted to set a character apart from the more well bred Americans. Only hers sounded, well, well bred.

Frank Bryce had insisted the only person he'd seen at the house near the time of the deaths had been a teenage boy— a stranger Frank had never seen before. He stated he'd spotted him standing where the girl had been found, but at the time Frank had seen him, he thought nothing of it. The boy had been tall, dark-haired and pale. That was all Frank remembered about the boy. He didn't see the girl till the next morning when he tripped over her.

Hastings was sure the boy had been invented. The girl had no clue, which wasn't surprising as she did not know much of anything. She had not even known the date. Or where she was. She did notice everyone didn't sound like her, which perplexed her. She had no idea why she sounded different, as she'd never heard of America. Or Britain. She didn't even know there was a war going on.

Before the report on the Riddles had come back the first time and Hastings did not know he was dealing with such an odd case, some strangely dressed people had appeared claiming the girl had run away from a metal hospital they ran. Since the girl was of no help with his murder investigation and they had all the right paper work, Hastings let them take the girl.

Picking up her file, he tossed it into the Riddles file and shoved it into a file cabinet where he kept unsolved murders. There was no way he'd ever solve the murder of the Riddles.

* * *

Tom eyed Black. She looked the same, only in ugly clothing provided by the Ministry.

Dumbledore could not explain the reason for her complete memory loss in general. No one could.

Tom smirked.

He _was_ better than the great Albus Dumbledore. The spell had worked. Atlanta Black was gone. Tom was sure Dumbledore had poked around in the girl's head to try to figure out what was wrong with her. To anyone who tried that, it appeared as if she had simple case of amnesia caused by head trauma. Everything inside her head was foggy and unclear.

"Mr. Riddle?"

Tom looked up from where he'd been smirking at the ground to find Dumbledore studying him with an intense look in those light blue eyes. Tom quickly put on his polite mask.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Might you have something you'd like to tell me?"

Tom put an innocent expression on his face. "No…I am simply glad we found Calliope."

Dumbledore stared. Tom knew he was trying to see into his mind, so he pulled up fake memories of being worried about Black, the fake relief he'd felt when the Ministry had contacted the Headmaster. Dumbledore frowned upon seeing Tom's thoughts.

"All right," Dumbledore said carefully. "This is still highly suspicious, seeing as a family who shared your surname was found dead with Calliope in their yard."

"It is tragic. I'm sure Calliope was simply trying to find our father and got in Mr Gaunt's way."

Tom internally smirked. That memory spell had worked wonderfully as well. Fooled the Ministry perfectly. He figured he would use the same spell once he was left alone with the shell of Atlanta Black to create the Calliope Wren Riddle he wanted.

"How did Calliope find the Riddles when you have never been able to?" Dumbledore asked.

"I do not know."

Dumbledore stared again, his blue gaze burning Tom.

With that non-verbal warning, Dumbledore walked away. No one knew Tom had visited his uncle, as well as his paternal family that night. Tom had fed the professors and the Ministry lies. He stated he had remained at Hogwarts and Calliope snuck out. He had discovered her missing the next morning, the morning he alerted Slughorn to her disappearance.

Tom, grinding his teeth together, turned toward the sleeping girl.

The time she had been gone had been blissfully quiet and he'd managed a great deal of work. He was more than ready for her when St. Mungo's released her. The ten days she'd spent at St. Mungo's after the Ministry had found her when they'd gone to check the Riddles to confirm they had been killed by Morfin had done nothing for her other than make her rather crabby. She did not gain any new memories, did not remember who she was or anything useful. All she gained was a intense dislike for Healers.

Not being able to help, the hospital released her to Dumbledore.

School was beginning in another two weeks and he had a lot of work to complete on Calliope Wren Riddle. She needed to be groomed. She needed memories implanted for her to "remember."

Tom felt her magic before he saw her when Dumbledore had escorted her into the Slytherin Common Room. It reached for him, crackled around him, then began to hug him. He hated to admit it, but he'd missed that feeling. That moment he was glad she was back. He was reminded of her power, her potential, and the fact he did _want_ it for himself. He had to harness that power within her.

It was not till he was back at Hogwarts and had calmed down when he realized the brilliance of his actions that night.

He had gotten ride of Atlanta Black and finished charming the diary to hold his memories of the Chamber of Secrets. He'd be able to leave it behind for someone else worthy to complete Salazar Slytherin's work.

He needed to kill his father, the filthy Muggle. He wanted there to be no way to trace him to that filth.

He killed the entire Riddle family.

He needed to get rid of his ugly, disgusting uncle.

His uncle was sent to Azkaban for life for the murders of the Riddles.

He also needed to control Calliope Riddle. Tom would not be able to control Atlanta Black.

He knew it would take the Ministry forever to find Calliope Riddle in the Muggle world. It took them two weeks to track her down in relation to the murder of the Riddles, as after they found Morfin, they didn't think twice about the child that had been found on the scene. It was only after viewing his memories, did they wonder about the witch might be the missing Calliope Riddle.

People were so dense.

Smirking wide, he turned his attention to the empty shell of Atlanta Black. It was time to create Calliope Wren Riddle.


	8. Lost Who I Am

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. **

_Edited and reloaded 15 July 2013_

* * *

**_Lost Who I Am_**

* * *

Tom gathered the things he needed for the memory implanting process including a Pensive bowl where he had already stored all of the memories he had created for Calliope. From what he'd over heard Dumbledore telling the Headmaster, Calliope remembered how to do basic things. He thought it was strange she had an American accent, but figured it was part of her memory lost. The Ministry and St. Mungo's had concluded Morfin had knocked Calliope out and performed a memory spell that had gone wrong. It had stripped her of personal memories, leaving behind the ablity to read, write, walk, and speak.

Smirking widely, Tom mentally patted himself on the back.

Sitting down in a chair next to where the girl lay sleeping, Tom pulled his wand out and began to decant the memories he'd created into her head. The basics: who she was, when she was born, the back story she'd fed to Dumbledore. He left out the time travel, knowing Dumbledore would never bring it up due to the fact it would confuse the poor amnesiac. The more complex memories: her childhood (he'd had fun making that up), her personality, and all the Black family history he could find. He fabricated memories of the two of them over the summer, trying to keep it as close as he could to what had happened. He left out the singing to annoy him, as well as all her public performances. He put a fail safe in that if Dumbledore asked her about anything from the past summer, she would claim ignorance.

She also would no longer trust Dumbledore.

He finished putting her new memories in and placed a time release spell on them so they'd slowly come back to her as he said things to her. He knew it would be his job, as her brother, to help her gain her memory back. He'd control when and what she remembered.

Standing, he took the Pensive back to his room, storing it in his trunk. Cracking his stiff neck, he grabbed the next items needed. She wasn't his blood sister, but he planned make her his blood relation. He would gain some of her power through shared blood. She'd gain some of his, but she'd be connected and tethered to him, as he was the active bonder.

She would be his.

Tom walked back into the Common Room and retook his seat. Picking up her left arm, he twirled the knife between his long fingers for a moment before deciding what to cut into her arm. He pressed the charmed silver blade to her tan forearm, smirking. He lightly scratched the design into her arm before he cut it. Red blood began to bulb out, spilling all over her arm and running over to splatter on the couch.

She did not wake. Between the stress of St. Mungo's and the memory molding Tom had done, she was physical and mentally exhausted.

He picked up his own wand and slashed his own forearm. The blood rose out of his own forearm much faster than the design he'd etched into her arm. He quickly pressed his own arm to hers and bound them together in white silk. He began to the spell, putting as much pressure as he could on their bound arms. Instead of performing the incantation in English, he performed it in Latin. This would insure the bond was strong.

"_Cum isto sanguine nos alligant simul ut relationibus, commutent munera nostra, cum hoc serico, fac nos fortior, sapientior et familiar, cum huius magicae creare ties colligationis trans tempore et spatio._"

Tom felt the magic flow between them. It hurt. He felt it in his core, the warping and reforming. He continued to put pressure on the wounds, watching as the black, white and grey magics exchanged and tore apart. Tom could feel things changing within him. Pain flowed through him. His eyes hurt, every muscle in his body hurt. His bones felt like they were stretching out.

Then, as quickly as it'd come, the pain left. Tom slowly peeled his eyes open. He could see sharper. He could smell more things, especially the metallic tang of their blood seeping into the silk. He felt stronger instead of weaker as the light around their arms began to fade. He was still panting when the ritual was finished, but he did not feel magically or physically exhausted as he assumed he would.

He unwrapped the silk from their arms. He folded it up and shoved it into his pocket. He cleaned his own wound and healed it right away. He healed and cleaned her arm, but due to the knife he used, there was a faint, pale white scar on her arm. He smirked.

He'd marked her as his own.

He traced the scar with his long fingers and noticed something. She was pale and no longer the light shade of tan she'd been before. Her skin tone and color was the same shade as Tom. As he studied her, he noticed more things. He could see a pale grey and dark grey color swirling around her faintly. Looking at his own skin, he saw black swirls, mixed with some dark grey. He looked around the Slytherin Common room and noted he could see things be could not before. Standing, he studied the paintings. They danced with magic.

He could see magic.

"Brilliant," he breathed.

He performed a few spells. Faintly, he saw the black colored magic flow out of his wand.

He wandered around the room, faintly seeing some of the wards of the school, the magic used to spell the windows and finally the magic in the mirrors that allowed them to talk. His reflection stared back at him and he jumped a bit.

His eyes were different. There was an amber ring around the outside of his dark blue eyes. As he studied his eyes closer, he noticed brown specks mixed in with the dark blue ones. It made his eyes look darker. His hair also looked darker, if that was possible. And had more of a curl to it.

Like Atlanta Black's hair when she actually did something with it.

Backing up, he noted that his pants were about an inch shorter. No wonder his bones had hurt. He'd grown an inch in the span of fifteen minutes.

"Interesting," Tom breathed.

He had not been aware they'd take on physical traits as well as magical traits. Heading back out into the Common room, he studied Calliope. She looked pretty much the same, other than the fact she had alabaster skin, just as Tom. He picked up her black hair. He held it against his and they were the exact same shade. As he studied her hair, he noticed it curled better, as before he'd started, it had been a wavy mess. As he curled one of the curls around his finger, she groaned.

"What is going on?" she asked. In a perfect aristocratic British accent.

Tom smirked. Thank god that was back. He dropped the curl.

"Oh, I sound different," she announced. "Tom?"

"Here, Calliope," he said, sitting down near her feet. "You fell asleep right after Professor Dumbledore dropped you off. We didn't get a chance to speak."

"No. We did not. What happened to my arm?" she asked, staring at it.

"You cut it," he informed her. "You've always had that scar."

Realization dawned on her face. Tom smirked.

"Oh, yes. I remember," she said, awe in her voice. "I remember something!"

"That's wonderful. I'll try my best to help you remember. Granted, I do not know much of your childhood, but I will try my best," he said. "Do you remember me?"

"Well, I know you are Tom Riddle. Professor Dumbledore said you were my half brother?"

"Correct. I'm your half brother," he agreed. "You usually call me Tee or T.M."

"What does the 'M' stand for?"

"Marvolo."

Calliope gracefully arranged herself in a seated position, smoothing her skirt down.

He reached over his long fingers and caught her chin. He tilted her head towards his and studied her eyes. Here were still that odd shade of amber flecked with dark blue with a dark blue ring around the outside. The exact opposite of his own eyes. As he studied her face he did noticed a few other small changes. Her eyes were a bit more shaped like his, her eyelashes were far more dense and her lips were the same shade as his: more red than pink.

"Are you sure you are all right, Calliope?" he asked, playing the role of worried brother perfectly.

"I am tired still. And my arm aches, oddly. Does it often hurt if it is an old scar?"

"A pain potion, maybe?" Tom asked, smiling at her and ignoring her last question.

"Yes. That would be lovely," she said softly.

Tom dropped her chin and pulled out a pain potion from his other pocket. He led her to the room she'd been staying in, explaining he would be in the six year boy's dormitory. She nodded and bid him good night. Smirking, he headed for his own room.

He removed the bloody silk from his pocket. One never knew when blood was needed without the donor's permission. Folding the silk up, he stuffed it into his trunk. Straightening, he grabbed a book and lounged on his bed. He quieted his mind to prepare for reading. He would test her what abilities she had tomorrow. He was actually quite excited to discover which magical traits she had gained from him. Normally, Tom was not one to want to share, but there was something about Calliope that overcame this usual inclination.

She was his. He possessed her, controlled her and having her be his equal would work for his benefit.

* * *

_A/N: Translation of the Binding Spell: With this binding in the blood of us at the same time as relations, may exchange our gifts, since this silk, make us stronger, wiser and the familiar, to create ties that bind with the other side of the magic of this time and space._


	9. Place We Belong

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

_Edited and reloaded 15 July 2013_

* * *

**_Place We Belong_**

* * *

Tom watched her with a predatory glint in his eyes. She held her head high, her expression a duplicate of his polite indifference. Standing with her fellow first years, he saw her flash a calculated smile. Like his own, it did not reach her eyes. Those amber eyes, which had become more shot through with blues and shards of red when she was angry, remained cold.

He'd made a female version of him. Calliope was perfect behavior wise, yet her magic was still wild and not as trained and perfected as his was at eleven. He conceded this point, due to the fact she did not have his brain. While talents had been exchanged, the past two weeks of training the child had shown him her mind was not as sharp as his own.

Tragic, but foreseeable.

Her main power lay in her voice and that would aid in performing Dark spells. Intent was key behind casting any spell, but emotion played a larger role in performing the Dark Arts. With the force that lay behind her voice, even speaking, she would be able to perform Dark spells almost as well as Tom. After seven years of training, she would take her place at his side and while he further delved into the Dark Arts. She would use her power to influence the masses to his side. If one thing history had taught Tom, one could not hope to rule with fear alone. It was best to have a combination of love and fear.

Calliope Wren Riddle was a living example of this concept. Tom knew, due to the fact she believed herself to be his half sister, she loved him unconditionally. Yet, she feared him as she ought to. The combination was breathtakingly beautiful and Tom promised to look into having people actually love him. The insipid shallow fancies held for him by the population of Hogwarts held nothing against what Calliope felt towards him. He decided to devote this year to figuring how out to cause the emotion and devotion in his followers. So far he only charmed people and once he had them he made sure they feared him.

He wished he had her power behind his voice. Then his charm would go further when he spoke. He'd be able to do more than simply fool people into thinking he was a polite, handsome, nice orphan.

Keeping Calliope in sight as she came to stop with the other first years at the front of the hall, Tom noticed Dumbledore frowning in Calliope's direction. Tom internally smirked. The old coot had noticed the drastic change in Calliope's behavior after her return. Tom knew he would, as nothing went without notice when it came to Dumbledore. The other professors did not know the child as well as Dumbledore, so they only assumed it was all part of her recovery.

There was no more singing. No more annoying guitar playing.

She was serious. She listened when Tom spoke and took what he had to say to heart. She followed directions, unless she thought it was stupid, which had only happened once so far.

She paid dearly.

"Who is that girl you're staring holes into?"

Turning his head to his right, Tom's eyes landed on the blond Malfoy heir. The grey-blue eyes looked curious.

"She looks kind of like a Black," said another voice across from Tom.

"I know."

"But, we don't know her."

"You will," Tom said, but offered no more.

The Hat began to sing its song. Tom sat up straight, pretending to listen to the insipid, pointless song about the Houses the Hat spent all year coming up with. Upon finishing the song, Dumbledore began to call students up. Tom politely clapped when Slytherin got a new student. He was anxious for one student to be sorted.

"Riddle, Calliope."

Calliope walked up with ease and grace, lowering herself onto the stool. She gave Dumbledore a cool smile, which caused the man to frown for a fraction of a second. The Hat lowered onto her head and she crossed her legs at her ankles, folding her hands primly in her lap.

Silence.

It was a heavy silence, between the Hat taking its time and Tom's fellow Slytherins all staring at him. Tom did not say anything, keeping his eyes locked on Calliope.

He assumed, with his own blood in her system, she'd instantly sort into Slytherin just as he had. No other house was worthy of her.

As he watched, he saw Calliope's knuckles go white. She was squeezing her hands together very tightly, something Tom knew meant she was getting angry. Calliope was arguing with the Hat? Black would be waving her hands around and stomping her foot while she fought with the Hat. She would be displaying that inane Gryffindor behavior.

How the House of Black had produced such a blatant…Gryffindor was beyond Tom.

Smirking in spite of himself, Tom mentally patted himself on the back. He had taught Calliope manners, taught her to contain her emotions while not casting magic. It took awhile to drill into her that emotions were weak and as Riddles they were not to show them. She occasionally had emotional outbursts, but it took a lot to set her off.

"SLYTHERIN?"

The Hat almost sounded as if it were tired and not all that convinced. Calliope pulled the Hat off her head and handed it to Dumbledore without looking at him. The Slytherin table burst into applause, but Calliope did not smile or grin. Her face was set in its blank mask, but her eyes were flashing amber and red.

She was really mad.

Shocked, Tom felt his face contort a bit as she stalked towards him. Tom elbowed Alphard Black to move over to make room for Calliope. He did without question and the girl sat down.

"What happened?" Tom asked, staring down at her.

Looking up at him, her eyes flecked with red more than blue, she said, "That blasted Hat wanted to put me in Gryffindor. I have never been so insulted in my life."

Tom quirked an eyebrow, allowing a small frown to play across his face. He had altered her so much there was no more bleeding heart Lion within her. Why would the Hat even consider putting the child next to him anywhere except Slytherin?

"The Hat said all sorts of rubbish, T.M.," she went on, failing to notice all the upper years were staring at her in various states of shock. "Honestly. Gryffindor. I've never heard something so ridiculous."

"I take it you talked your way into Slytherin," Tom guessed.

She cut him a look for a moment before looking down at the empty golden plate in front of her. "I debated with the Hat. I did not argue. I kept my head and debated with the Hat till I won. It had foolish ideas. It seemed to think it knew me, having sorted me before. It said it'd seen me at least twice more. Clearly, that Hat is mad."

Tom blinked, quickly composing his features out of the shock they wanted to displace. Tom knew the Hat had sorted her once before, but it'd see her again? Did this child make it a habit of time traveling and not remembering it? He was sure he was the first person to ever alter her mind. And the last.

"Clearly," Tom agreed. "Calliope, I'd like to introduce you to my friends and your fellow housemates."

Calliope's face quickly rearranged itself and her amber eyes stopped doing that odd glowing thing they did when she was over wrought with emotion. She plastered a pleasant smile on her face, directing her attention to the table.

"To your right is Alphard Black, he's a fifth year," Tom began, indicating to the good looking young man. He nodded at Calliope, studying her carefully.

"Charmed," he said, taking her hand and giving it a kiss.

"I'm sure," she answered, bowing her head a bit.

"Next to Alphard is Randall Lastrange. Sixth year. Across from him is Walburga Black, sixth year. Cedrella Rosier, sixth year. Damon Crabbe, seventh year. Jacob Nott, sixth year. Zane Prince, seventh year. Artimis Goyle, fifth year. And finally, Abraxas Malfoy, sixth year."

Each student greeted her. She smiled politely and introduced herself. She quickly excused herself, telling the upper years she had to go meet her fellow first years. Standing up gracefully, she moved with poise down the table towards the first years, taking her seat as the food appeared. Tom turned back to his friends and waited for a moment.

"She is lovely, Tom," Walburga offered. "I wasn't aware you had a little sister."

"Half-sister."

He didn't offer any more. Walburga turned, studying Calliope with a new eye.

"I see the relation, but she's…"

Walburga stopped speaking. Tom knew perfectly well what she was noticing in Calliope.

"Did you know there's a Black family living in France?" Tom began.

Walburga turned sharply towards Tom. "No, I was not aware."

Tom extended his head. "There is. That is what you are seeing in Calliope. We have different mothers."

In the past two weeks, Tom had concluded Calliope had not picked up his magical ability to speak to snakes, something he was thankful for. His inner circle knew of his ability to speak to snakes, which they knew came from one of his mother's side. Tom knew, though, Calliope might show signs of Parsletongue in the coming weeks. While Tom's magical traits all showed up within a few hours (as did the physical ones), Calliope due to her age was slower in showing signs. In the past two weeks Tom had noted her fingers were longer than they'd been before, and straighter. Her nose had gotten a little more narrow and her eyelashes grew even thicker and longer. The red specks in her eyes became more dominate when she was angered. He made a calculated guess as she continued to grow, she'd grow to be more like him, magically and physically.

Tom gracefully and tactfully turned the conversation away from Calliope, asking about summers, trivial matters and other things he did not honestly care about.


	10. The End's Beginning

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I fail to own it.**

_Edited and reloaded on 15 July 2013_

* * *

**_The End's Beginning_**

* * *

First half of term flew by quickly. Tom kept an eye on Calliope and she behaved perfectly. She was top of her class, working hard and helping her fellow Slytherin first years. Her worst subject by far was Potions. No matter how much Tom tried to help her, she was horrid. Slughorn over looked this and still invited her to join his Slug Club. Tom was thankful for this, as he no longer had to find a date. He accompanied his little sister. He had never been so thankful for Calliope's existence before. Accompanying an insipid, vapid girl was mind numbing. Calliope at least was smart enough to carry on a conversation rather than fawn and stare at him.

"Tee?"

Tom looked up from the book he was reading. It was Christmas break and he had chosen to remain at Hogwarts with Calliope instead of accepting one of the many invitations to one of his followers homes for the holidays. He had a lot of reading to complete on his side projects and no time for frivolous socializing. Calliope chose to remain behind with Tom on her own. This pleased Tom greatly, as it showed how strong her loyalty was to him.

"Yes, Calliope?"

"Do you happen to know where my potions book got to?"

Tom quirked an eyebrow.

"Where did you last use it?"

Calliope sat back, looking contemplative. "I think I used it last in your room."

"Why were you in my room?"

"I believe I was trying to find you to ask you a question, only you failed to be there and I was distracted by something," Calliope admitted, frowning.

Tom mimicked her facial expression.

"Are you well? You do not usually forget things. You are not absent minded."

"I know. It is like a black area in my mind," Calliope said, looking confused. She shook her head. "Do you mind if I go check the room?"

"Go on."

Calliope left the Common Room. Tom listened to her go down the stairs to the boy's dormitory and went back to reading. He paused to wonder about the black out she had suffered while in his room. He was correct when he had stated she was not absent minded. If anything, Calliope was annoyingly anal. She remembered details of every single memory Tom had ever given her by this point and then some. It was as if she had a photographic memory.

Why did she black out in his room?

Tom did a mental assessment of what he had in his possession. He had no dark objects or anything that would cause that to happen to her. Nor did any of his roommates.

Shrugging it off, Tom went back to reading.

* * *

Calliope had never returned from his room after she went to get her potion book. Checking the clock above the fireplace, it had been almost an hour since she had left. Shutting his book with a snap, Tom strode towards the boy's dormitory. The hallway was dark, except for a sliver of light coming from the sixth year boy's dormitory. Tom slowly approached the room, ears open for whatever she was doing in his room. Silence met his ears.

Reaching the door, he pushed it open. He scanned the room and found Calliope pushed into the corner of the room near his side of the room. His bed was at the very end of the long room. She was pressed into the corner, right near the charmed window of the lake. Near where her head was, a mermaid was hovering, pressing a hand to the glass. It was an odd sight. Upon noticing Tom, the mermaid swam off.

"Calliope?"

The girl startled so bad she screamed. Tom took two more steps into the room before he realized his trunk was open.

He stopped walking, anger welling up from the core.

"You went through my trunk?" he said emotionlessly.

Calliope said nothing, simply pressed her further into the corner.

In quick strides, Tom crossed the room and found she had discovered his books on horcruxes. He felt his magic rage around within him and his fingers began itching. He heard her suck in a breath upon seeing his face contorted with anger.

"What is happening to you?" she asked in a high pitched voice. "Why would you even have those books?"

"Did you read them?"

She didn't even need to answer.

"It is my own business, none of yours," he snapped.

"Tom, I know what you become," she whispered.

Tom froze.

First, she called him _Tom_. Second, she had said she knew what he became. Calliope did not know who he became. Atlanta Black did.

"What do you mean?"

She squeaked, having felt the rage of magic around him when he spoke. He had noticed when he lost control of his anger, his voice took on a little power. He was still upset he had not gained Calliope's vocal powers when he spoke normally. Thinking this, only fueled his displeasure.

"I mean, if you keep traveling down this path of the Dark Arts, I know what you will become. Haven't you read the books that warn you not to get too seeped in one or the other type of magic. Power corrupts."

"Power does not corrupt, Calliope," Tom hissed, closing the space between them.

Calliope pressed herself further into the corner.

"You understand NOTHING. You are a silly child," Tom scolded. "A silly child who needs to learn a lesson."

Calliope's eyes went large.

"_Crucio_."

He whispered the curse, but it felt so good. His vesuvian rage and fury poured out of him, channeled into his wand. The magic flowed out and hit Calliope square in the chest. The scream wrenched from her was music to his ears. He began to laugh as she withered in pain, twisting in the corner she'd pressed herself. She hit her head on the glass window and wall, till she finally fell to the ground and twitched, screaming until her throat was raw. He lifted the curse, knowing if he kept her under it any longer, others would know what he'd done.

Without speaking another word to her, he levitated her out of the room. He threw her into the hallway. Another wave of his wand and the door slammed shut. He locked it and gathered his books up. He was still fuming at the fact she had gone through his things. Taking inventory of what she had read or gone through, he knew she realized how deep into the Dark Arts he was planning to travel. The brat had gone through his entire trunk.

This set him off again. Not wanting to destroy his own room, he unlocked the door, stepped over Calliope's body and stormed out of Slytherin dorms. Stalking the halls, he did not stop till he reached the seventh floor. Finding the right piece of wall, he walked back and forth several times till a door appeared. He tore the door open and began cursing everything in sight. Soon he was surrounded by exploding shelves, books, furniture and anything else he happened to come across.


	11. I Will Not Be Silent

**Disclaimer: The following songs were written by Paul McCartney and John Lennon: "Girl," "I'm Looking Through You," "Revolution," and "For No One." "To Know Him Is To Love Him" was written by Phil Spector and "Shattered" is by Trading Yesterday. Lyrics to "Girl" were changed for gender. All songs are in italics.**

**Once again, if you know it, I do not own it.**

_Edited and reloaded on July 15 2013_

* * *

**_I Will Not Be Silent_**

* * *

It took him a few hours to calm down. He headed back to the Common Room to find it empty. Grinding his back teeth together, Tom turned on his heel and stalked back out of the hall. If a professor saw her in her current condition it would not bode well for him. Tom stalked all the way to the main floor and still did not feel Calliope's magic anywhere in the castle. He started up the stairs. He reached the second floor and stopped.

He could hear her.

Calliope was singing.

It was not a popular tune. It was not a wizarding standard either.

_"When I think of all the times I tried to so hard to leave him, he will turn to me and make me cry and he promises the earth to me and I believe him. After all this time, I don't know why. Ah, boy….Boy…."_

Pursing his lips together, Tom marched down the hallway efficiently. He neared the classroom Calliope had hidden herself ever so badly within. He stopped at the door and the magic from her singing hit him full force.

He'd walked through the ward she'd put up to prevent him from finding her.

The emotional magic raged through him worst than he'd ever felt before.

Pain.

He was filled with so much pain.

_"Was he told when he was young that pain would lead to pleasure? Did he understand it when they said that a man must break his back to earn his day of leisure? Will he still believe when they're dead?" _

Calliope strummed her guitar— where she had found it, Tom did not know. She hit each string hard, causing a staccato sound that hurt Tom's ears.

Anger.

Hurt.

Pain.

Frustration.

Sarrow.

The song switched, softening. The notes didn't sound so angry or hard. Her voice took on a different tone, yet still tugged at Tom in a peculiar manner.

"_To know, to know, know him is to love, love, love him. Just to see him smile makes my life worthwhile. Yes, just to know, know, know him is to love, love, love him. And I do and I do and I do."_

Hopelessness.

Helplessness.

"_He'll be good for me, he'll make me stronger. Everyone says they'll come a day when I'll walk along side of him. Yes, just to know, know, know him, is to love, love, love him. And I do, and I do, and I do."_

The frustration returned and she changed the melody again. She strummed the strings a little harder and with more force.

Determination.

_"I'm looking through, where did you go. I thought I knew you, what did I know? You don't look different but you have changed. I'm looking you're not the same."_

The magic swirled around her, out of her fingers. He could see it seeping out, dripping down as she caused her fingers to bleed with her playing. As she sang, magic swirled out of her mouth, dancing around looking for someone to influence. Tom saw it moving towards him and cast a silent shield charm.

Calliope had let her emotions run wild and her magic was dangerous.

He had never seen her magic or felt her magic become so wild since he had met her. His shield charm hardly was able to keep the magic out. He still felt it crackle over his skin, poke and prod him.

_"Your lips are moving, I cannot hear. Your voice is soothing, but the words aren't clear. You don't sound different, I've learned the game. I'm looking through you, you're not the same."_

Tom's breath hitched. He backed away till he ran into the wall on the other side of the hallway. Her heart and soul poured into her magic and it stabbed further at Tom. It felt like there was a knife in his chest and it was slowly being twisted.

_"Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right? Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight. You're thinking of me, the same old way. You were above me, but not today. The only difference is you're down there. I'm looking through you, and you're nowhere."_

She was shouting. She was no longer singing, but shouting.

Calliope was mad. Tom could feel the red sparks flying even if he could not see her.

_"Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right? Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight. I'm looking through you, where did you go? I thought I knew you, what did I know? You don't look different, but you have changed. I'm looking through you, you're not the same."_

Tom's knees buckled and he hit the stone floor hard, his shield charm failing. He was hit with the full blast of her rage. Her emotions were suffocating, wrapping around his throat and squeezing. They were making him feel…regret, remorse and contrition.

Weakness. That was what he felt. Weakness.

Calliope's magic was making him weak. He tried to climb out of the hole of wallow he'd fallen into, but she kept playing. The song changed yet again, something loud, heavy.

_"Okay! You say you want a revolution, well you know we all wanna change the world. You tell me that it's evolution. Well, you know, we all wanna change the world. But when you talk about destruction, don't you know you can count me out. Don't you know it's gonna be all right. Don't you know it's gonna be all right?"_

She was screaming again. Tom pushed himself to his knees. He felt his own magic swell in order to get away from Calliope. She wasn't aware he was there, so she had not pinned him to the ground. She thought she was alone, hence her magic gone wild.

"_You say you got a real solution, well you know, we'd all love to see the plan. You ask me for a contribution. Well, you know we're doing what we can. But if you want money for people with minds that hate, all I can tell you bubba you have to wait. Don't you know it's gonna be all right? Don't you know it's gonna be all right?"_

Tom got to his feet_._ Using the wall, he managed to get himself across the weak ward Calliope had cast to keep her magic from effecting anyone. Tom was an idiot for not sensing it before. It had been the first thing he taught…

Atlanta. After he gave her the guitar.

He had never taught Calliope that ward because Calliope did not know music was magic beyond what was done from a wand and her playing and singing with too much emotion was all consuming. Calliope didn't know the songs Atlanta knew, did not know how to play any musical instruments.

Tom turned back around and stared at the half closed door.

_"You say you'll change the constitution, well you know, we all love to change your head. You tell me it's the institution. Well, you know, you better free your mind instead. But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao you ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow."_

Atlanta Black was trying to take over. How the hell did Atlanta Black seep that far into Calliope's mind? Had his lesson on obedience loosed something in her head? Tom was sure he had eradicated Atlanta Black.

Tom stopped at the top of the stairs, turning towards where Calliope was still playing her emotions out. She'd moved onto another song. It was a slower song, sad and lonely.

_"And in his eyes you see nothing. No sign of love behind the hate, felt for no one. A love that should have lasted years. You want him, you need him and yet you don't believe him when he says his love is dead you think he needs you."_

Tom gripped the railing, unable to move. He could not feel her magic at all, but something was holding him there, squeezing at his chest.

"_Your day breaks, your mind aches. There will be times all the things he said will fill your head and you won't forget him_."

Tom stomped down the stairs. Tonight, he'd fix her head after she had gone to bed. He'd _Oblivate_ the whole mess. Things would go back to normal. Tom did not get very far before he froze when he heard the music change yet again. He felt like a bucket of ice was dumped over his head. Gripping the railing he remained rooted in spot.

It was the melody that haunted him. He heard it in his dreams. He tried to eradicate it, but it always found him. Calliope did not know this song. There was no way on Earth, Calliope knew this song.

Atlanta had written it. Tom had witnessed the birth of the song.

Tom had made sure to erase all evidence of that song. He had set fire to the sheets of music she'd written. The pieces of parchment with lyrics, words or ideas written by Atlanta had been vanished.

How did Calliope know this song?

_"And I've lost who I am, and I can't understand why my heart is so broken, rejecting love without love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on. But I know all I know and the end's beginning. Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart. Let me go and I will run, I will not be silent."_

Tom wasn't breathing.

_"All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain. All is lost, hope remains and this war's not over. There's a light, there's the sun, taking all the shatter ones to the place we belong. And his love will conquer all." _

She started over, playing louder, singing louder. Tom removed his hand from the railing and ran. If he hadn't been so anxious to get away, he would have noticed Albus Dumbledore in the shadows, having witnessed the entire thing.


	12. Time Spent in Vain

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

_Edited and reloaded 17 July 2013_

* * *

**_Time Spent in Vain_**

* * *

Tom was unable to make himself _Obliviate_ Calliope. That night, he curled into bed and stared blankly at the wall. The next morning, Calliope behaved as if nothing had occurred. She treated Tom as she normally did. She never once said anything about what had happened, nor could Tom tell if it bothered her. She hid behind a polite, indifferent mask. After watching her for three days, he approached her, informing her it was high time they return to training. It was a test to see if she actually accepted or not.

Atlanta Black would never except.

Calliope Wren Riddle would readily accept.

"Really, Tee?" she asked, her large amber eyes round with excitement. Her polite, indifferent mask fell completely.

"Yes. I've found some spells I feel would benefit you," Tom replied smoothly. "In the future, do not go into my trunk."

That was as much as an apology Calliope would ever receive for the events over Christmas break.

* * *

Tom was having trouble converting Calliope's voice power into anything worth while. So far he'd only witnessed the strange power when she sung (or screamed). He'd never managed to witness it come out when she cast a spell. He had figured correctly she was a natural when it came to Dark magic, but he wasn't sure if it stemmed from her voice power or the fact her magic was keyed into Dark. At the moment, they were standing in the training room he'd asked the Room of Requirements to give him. Calliope was panting, hands on her thighs and dark raven hair wet with sweat.

"That was some spell," she panted.

"Stand up straight," Tom snapped.

Calliope stood up straight, tucking her hair behind her ears. She looked exhausted. He frowned. Shifting his vision, he checked her magic. It was still at full power, so why was she so tired?

"You are clearly not doing the spell correctly," he informed her. "Your magic is at full and you are tried."

"I noticed," she muttered.

She rolled her shoulders and loosened her neck. She looks away from Tom and back at the dummy the room provided her to practice her curses on. Rolling up her sleeves, she aimed her wand at the dummy and shouted, "_Osdolor."_

There was something different this time she cast it. She didn't simple shout in a spoken tone as she'd been doing. No, there was a musical quality to her voice as she cast it. The magic behind the curse was so great, the dummy's head didn't simply snap off, it flew off, shattering into pieces on the stone wall over Tom's head.

He slowly stood up, having ducked when the head came flying at him, and found Calliope looking shaken.

That wasn't right.

"Be proud. You did it correctly. The cures is supposed to harm your enemy," Tom reminded her.

There was a part of Calliope that did not care to cause pain in others. This disgusted Tom.

"Again, but aim at the chest. The chest is where the cures ought to be aimed. Breaking ribs will hinder your enemy quickly as breaking a leg," Tom informed her.

"Only with more internal damage maybe," Calliope muttered.

He dared her with his eyes to defy him. He felt her magic well up, but it died quickly.

She shot the curse again, sending the dummy right at him. He swiftly moved out of the way. The dummy smashed into a million pieces next to him.

* * *

Tom slowly took a book off the shelf and stared at the cover. He had shied away from procuring such dark books since Calliope had gone through his things, but he felt she had learned her lesson and would never open his trunk again. He needed to further his research on horcruxes. Slughorn had given Tom the final information he was unable to find in a book: how one made one.

While Slughorn had been horrified with the whole conversation, nothing horrified the man more than Tom suggestion _seven_ would be best. That, Slughorn did not know the answer to. Tom was afraid no one would know the answer to that one question, as no one had ever made more than one horcrux.

There was no actual spell in any of the books Tom had found in the Hogworts library to make a horcrux. Slughorn said one must commit murder. Through murder, your soul split to the point you could put it into an object.

By that logic, Tom ought to be able to make three horcruxes at the moment.

Flipping through the book in his hands currently, Tom realized that he'd be unable to make one from past murders. No, during the murder, one had to actively spilt the soul.

Interesting.

Tom idly flipped the pages in the book, but there was no more information. Sighing he debated if he wanted the book or not. It only said how to make them: through murder. Slughorn knew that already.

Tom placed the book on the shelf.

"Tom?"

Tom turned to find Orion Black standing behind him, looking somewhat befuddled. It was not a look the handsome fourteen-year-old often wore and it looked comical on his carefully crafted face.

"Yes, Orion?"

"My cousin Walburga informed me you requested this book from the Black Family library," Orion said, extending a book. "It was in my families library, not hers."

Tom kept his features schooled as he took in the title of the tiny, black, ancient book. Reaching out his hand, he closed his long fingers around the book and took it from Orion.

"My father does not know I've lent this to you. He will notice it is missing in about three weeks," Orion said, a serious tone to his voice.

"Really?"

Orion nodded. "After three weeks missing, a curse will enact and he will know. As will you. I do not know which curse. They are all cursed differently."

Tom narrowed his eyes at the teenager in front of him. "I'll return it within the time limit. Thank you, Orion."

Orion nodded. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the library. Tom opened the book and greedily began to read. The book was written in Parseltounge and very old. After reading the first paragraph, a smile tore across his face. He doubted any of the Blacks realized what this book was about.

Tom would have seven horcruxes.

He would need to protect seven. They'd have to be in important locations that proved he was the best and better than all. Locations that proved his might over his origins. The objects themselves would be powerful and symbolic.

Tom grabbed another book off the shelves, tucking it under his arm.

Sitting down at a table, he placed the small, black book into his pocket and opened up the book on dark potions he had tucked under his arm. He wanted a pain inducing poison that would cause the drinker to relive his or her worst memories. Memories are what really killed people. You could forget things, but if you weren't magically cleaned of those past memories, they still could cause harm. Fools held on to painful memories, fools allowed these memories to get the best of them.

A perfect tool to use to protect his soul.

Everything was going so well.

He opened the book with an evil smile playing on his thin lips.

&O&O&O&O&O&O&

A few months later, Tom returned to the Restricted Section to get another book on curses for his research. He had found several different poisons to try over the summer. He'd need to find test subjects, but he was sure his so called friends would all trip over themselves to aid him. Walking towards the Restricted Section he heard something that did not belong in the library: humming.

Narrowing his eyes, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the noise. He froze the moment he saw a dark head bobbing in the stacks. It was that moment the melody she was humming registered.

It was that damn melody, the one that haunted Atlanta Black all summer. The one that haunted Tom's dreams. The one he'd heard her singing after their disagreement. The same one Calliope Riddle should not know.

Tom was unsure how long he stood there while she looked for a book, humming softly. Shaking himself from his shock, he approached her.

"Calliope."

"Oh! Tee, I didn't see you there. Do you know any books I could use for my Transfiguration essay?"

"What is it on?"

"Oh, I'm trying to write an essay on why I couldn't turn my snail into a tea pot," Calliope said. "I made a tea cup. Clearly, I missed something."

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "I see. Well, this book here would help you explain why it turned into a cup rather than a pot."

He handed the book to her. She smiled her thanks and began to turn away.

"What was that melody you were humming, Calliope?"

She paused, looking over her shoulder. She had a blank, far away look in her eye.

"Not sure. It's been in my head for days. I try not to hum when people are around. I know I'm horrid at singing. My voice makes people run for the hills," she laughed, sounding a bit uncomfortable.

Tom blinked, wondering when she had come to that conclusion.

"I didn't realize I was humming out loud. I'll be more careful. Wouldn't want to be kicked out of the library," she said, turning away.

Over the next few weeks, Tom watched Calliope like a hawk. He drew to one conclusion: Atlanta Black was seeping back into his sister. Atlanta's mannerisms were returning, her way of speaking, and that damn song.

Right before Easter break, Tom snuck into the first year girl's dormitory and dove into Calliope's mind. He found Atlanta Black, hidden away in the depths of her mind.

Tom left her mind and re-casted the spell he used to turn Atlanta Black into a blank slate, only he wiped out the bits of Atlanta Black that had seeped into Calliope's mind. The power wound through her mind, slowly eradicating all remains of Atlanta Black. Tom watched through his magical sight as all traces of Atlanta Black (light shades of grey) retreated from Calliope's mind, leaving behind the darker grey and black that made up Calliope's magic.

The next morning, Calliope stared at Tom as if she didn't know him for a very long time before turning back to her first year friends.


	13. All is Lost

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. "Shattered" by Trading Yesterday (the words Calliope shouts at Tom during their argument). **

_Edited and reloaded 15 July 2013_

* * *

**_All is Lost_**

* * *

Tom burst out of the classroom. He stormed down the hallway, ignoring the pleading voice behind him.

"TOM!"

He kept going. He was not going to stop. Calliope was a child. She failed to realize what must be done in order to achieve maximum power.

She was foolish.

Calliope had been behaving strangely the past few days following exams. Playing caring brother, Tom had inquired as to what was the matter, but she refused to speak to him. He saw a glint in her amber specked with sapphire eyes that he'd only seen once before: after he'd tortured her for the first and last time. Besides the odd glint, she said strange things. He'd over heard her tell off one of her friends by stating, "Well, pin a rose on your nose."

The snappy tone and rhythm she had spoken it in was too near to Atlanta Black for comfort.

Something, though, had alerted Tom today something was greatly amiss. He felt it in his head, it prickled against his skin. He knew Calliope felt something was wrong, as she was absent minded and was caught off guard several times before breakfast finished. After lunch, Tom followed Calliope to an empty classroom where she sequestered herself. For a long time, she simply sat at a desk staring into space, perfectly still and silent. Tom watched her from outside the classroom till she stood up and moved to the front of the room where the blackboard rested. Tom took this moment to slip into the classroom unnoticed. He lurked in the shadows as she began writing. Tom slowly walked closer to get a better look, against his better judgement.

His stomach dropped as he read what she was writing:

_1960s: Lord Voldemort appears out of thin air._

_1971: Lord Voldemort begins his war, shows off how powerful he happens to be. _

_1971-1980: Grows support, preaches pureblood mania, murders hapless hundreds, turns into a heartless Muggle killer. Terrorizes the wizarding community. _

_1975: People start calling him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_1981: Randomly decides to take out baby. _

_1981: POOF!_

Calliope took a step back after she finished writing, still not noticing Tom was standing right behind her.

"Lord Voldemort becomes a powerful Dark Lord. He's feared to the point no one speaks his name. They call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He kills for no reason, hunts down Muggles and Muggleborns and trains his followers to be heartless killers," Calliope recited, ticking off each point on a long, pale finger. She cocked her head to the side as if she was listening to something. "I know Tee uses Voldemort. I saw it written in one of his notebooks. It freaked me out. Freaked me out?" She sounded confused. "Scared me. He only lets his little minions call him that and only when he thinks no one else is around."

Calliope collapsed bonelessly into a chair and stared at the blackboard. She took her wand and waved it at the board. The time line vanished.

"He's going to loose his sanity. He's going to drown himself in the Dark Arts, isn't he?"

"Who are you speaking to, Calliope?" Tom had asked loudly, moving to stand in the front of the classroom. Calliope stared at him with huge eyes, looking like a cornered animal as she scrambled to get to her feet.

"Just myself," she whispered, backing up quickly.

He hated seeing her look scared of him. He loathed it.

It made him mad.

"How do you know those things, Calliope?" he hissed, walking closer to her.

"I-I-I-I don't know," she stuttered out.

"Speak properly, Calliope," Tom ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

"You…Tom…I…don't….I'm not sure, but it's important you don't make…" Calliope trailed off.

"You know nothing," Tom seethed, feeling his magic crackle around him.

Calliope looked as if she wanted to back away, but she remained rooted where she was.

"Are you hearing voices?" Tom demanded.

"No," she whispered, balling her hands into fists for a second before flattening her hands against her sides.

The lost look on Calliope's face spoke volumes. She also had no idea what was going on with herself. Tom wasn't sure what was going on in her head, but Atlanta Black wasn't speaking to her. Atlanta Black was seeping back into her conscious and Tom had no clue what had caused it this time.

"You cannot become Lord Voldemort," she proclaimed. "He'll be the end of you. You can't…you have to have a balance of Dark and Light magic. Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely."

His anger swelled, swirling around him and settling. Tom wanted to curse her, but knew he couldn't curse her. Atlanta Black had first crept into his sister after Tom had used _Crucio_ on Callipe. Tom did not want to addle her mind any more than it already was with another torture curse even if his fingers itched to do so. His last mind altering spell had clearly _not_ gotten rid of whatever was left of Atlanta Black.

Atlanta Black refused to let go of his sister.

He was at a loss at what to do about the major catastrophe he had on his hands if Calliope reverted back into Atlanta Black.

At any moment his anger was going to snap, so he turned and stormed out of the classroom and into the hall.

"Tom!"

Calliope called him _Tom _and she NEVER called him _that_.

This enraged him further, as he _despised_ his given name. He did not like hearing his chosen name on her lips either. It made his skin crackle in a distasteful manner. She made it sound like the name of a mass murdering psychopath.

"TOM!"

He continued walking.

"TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE!"

He was not stopping. He pushed a first year out of his way. Where did all these people come from? Wasn't this hallway empty a moment ago?

"And I've lost who I am and I can't understand why my heart is so broken!" Calliope screamed above the noise of the students in the corridors.

Tom came to a halt, but did not turn around.

"Rejecting your love without love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on. But, I know all I know and the end's beginning! Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart! Let me go and I will run, I will not be silent!"

Tom started walking again. He did not care to listen to this babble. At least she wasn't singing at him, simply shouting, as there was no pulsating magic to her words.

"All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain. All is lost, hope remains! And this war's not over! There's a light, there's the sun, taking all shattered ones, to the place we belong and HIS LOVE WILL CONQUER ALL!"

Calliope screamed the last line as a warning. He felt a pulse of magic hit him in the back of the head.

_His love will conquer all. _

Tom glared as he turned around, knowing full well his eyes were flashing red. He could feel the color seep into his iris, bleeding into his sclera. He faced Calliope who was standing behind him, while the other students all hurried to remove themselves from the vicinity of the Riddles. Tom locked his gaze on Calliope, who was wearing a rather hard face.

"Whose love?" Tom asked in a dangerous tone.

"You've yet to meet him," Calliope answered. She looked very serious and for some odd reason, Tom imagined a baby with eyes the color of the Killing Curse, unnaturally green.

He felt fear creep into his subconsciousness and banished it quickly.

"Miss Riddle?"

Tom tore his eyes off Calliope and saw Dumbledore standing behind Calliope, radiating disapproval. There was no twinkle in his eye as he looked between the Riddle siblings.

"Time can be rewritten," Calliope announced. She held such conviction in her voice as the words fell from her lips, Tom almost believed her. He almost embraced her sentiment and vowed to change so the events she wrote of would never transpire.

She turned around and marched passed Dumbledore.

Tom erased the information from his mind. Forgot about the _Avada Kedavra_ colored eyes. Tom drenched his mind in the waters of Lethe and forgot.

_Poof_.

Anything Calliope and Tom had argued about was all gone, lost within the depths of his well organized mind.

Tom stood in the hallway wondering why he was so angry and why his fingers itched to curse someone.

"Mr. Riddle, can I trust you will keep your sibling spats within the confines of your own Common Room or at least an empty classroom?"

Dumbledore's question dragged Tom back to reality.

"Yes, sir,."

Dumbledore studied at Tom for a long moment. Tom got the eery feeling Dumbledore knew exactly what Calliope and he had been fighting about. Tom gave Dumbledore an inquisitive look, as he wasn't sure what they had even been fighting about. Tom had shouted, yelled and refused to listen, but until she began shouting song lyrics at him, she hadn't lost her temper.

And yet, he couldn't exactly remember why. Had Dumbledore _Oblivated _him in the hallways?

Tom shifted uneasily, trying to maintain his blank mask.

"Best get to class," Dumbledore said, turning and heading in the direction Calliope had vanished.

Scowling, Tom turned around. He stalked down to the Slytherin Common Room, having no intention of attending Potions that afternoon. Slughorn would understand.

Tom was upset. His sister was upset. The entire school knew this information. Tom had been shouting. For a long time, judging by the tickle in the back of his throat. His eyes felt like they were on fire, so he had gotten very angry.

He simply could not remember why. He had heard of tricks one could use to burry information in ones mind, but why would he choose this moment while fighting with Calliope to enact such a thing?

He halted and turned back the way he'd come from, stalking off in the direction Calliope had gone. If she was this upset and she might start singing again. That was something Tom could not stand for. And if how upset he felt was any indicator, Calliope was likely ten times worst.

* * *

Tom never found Calliope.

Calliope failed to show up at dinner.

Calliope failed to appear in the Common Room.

Calliope failed to use her bed.

It was morning and no one had seen Calliope since she made an utter fool out of herself by screaming and shouting at Tom in the corridor, spouting off words that made little sense to anyone. Tom was still seething with resentment and irritation towards the brat, but was allowing a little worry to creep into his veins.

Calliope did not miss meals and Calliope did not miss sleeping in her own bed.

Tom checked the Room of Requirements for her, but she was not there. Tom checked the entire castle, but was unable to find her. He was unable to sense her magical signature anywhere. He never heard anyone singing. He switched to his magical sight and attempted to find her, but was unable to find her in that manner either. By the time the rest of the castle was waking, Tom was in a panic and had a colossal headache from over using his magical sight. Hogwarts Castle was seeped in magic.

Trepidation flooded his system, pushing out any other emotion that might have been present. He was no longer angry, no longer wanted to crush someone's skull. He no longer wanted to rip all the hair out of Calliope's head one by one. His anger about whatever they had argued about and inability to remember were forgotten.

He wanted his sister safe and by his side. He also wanted a pain potion.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Tom shouted, almost glad to see the man who was wearing blinding orange robes and a clashing red hat. The usual rush of dislike and hate did not even well up, only relief at seeing the old coot. "Professor Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore frowned when he noticed Tom running at him. Tom knew he looked a right mess. His hair wasn't done, he was still wearing his school uniform he had worn yesterday and he knew he looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks. His eyes were likely bloodshot from lack of sleep and over using his magical sight.

"Have you seen Calliope since yesterday?"

"I last saw her after she had her disagreement with you," Dumbledore informed him, frowning as he took in Tom's state further. "Are you feeling all right?"

"No. My sister is missing. She did not return to the Common Room last night, she did not eat dinner and she never slept in her bed. Of course I am not fine!"

Tom grabbed at his curly hair and yanked hard, further aggravating the state of his headache.

"Mr. Riddle, please, calm down. The last time you saw her was?"

"The last time you did!"

Dumbledore frowned further. Worry filled the old man's face.

"Where did she head after you broke up our fight?" Tom asked, not caring he was having this conversation with Dumbledore.

He was broken.

He should have just _Obliviated _Calliope on the spot yesterday after catching her speaking of things— Tom searched his mind.

The future. She remembered things from the future.

She could not know of the future and remain at his side. While he still was unable to grapple for the details, he knew they were grim and his future was never to be grim.

Tom's future as Lord Voldemort was to be glorious.

"I do not know. I turned the corner and she wasn't there," Dumbledore admitted. "I assumed she used the secret passage way behind the tapestry to get to wherever she was heading, so I thought nothing of it."

Tom tore off, leaving Dumbledore behind.

He searched the castle yet again, but found no evidence of where she could have vanished off to. Slughorn suggested she might have lost her memory again and wandered off school grounds. The Headmaster contacted the Ministry, who put in a half hearted effort to find Calliope Riddle. Because she was a nobody, the Ministry gave up searching after two weeks and refused to tell Tom anything about their investigation.

In his mind, he saw a lone file moving from a desk into a file cabinet covered in dust. The file was placed inside and locked away and eaten by the tides of time.

Tom was allowed to remain at Hogwarts for the summer. He spent most of the summer trying to figure out how the castle has stolen away his sister. By the time his seventh and final year at Hogwarts began, he was no closer to figuring out where Calliope Wren Riddle had gone. People did not vanish without a trace, unless they were stolen away by magic.

That was the only conclusion Tom had reached that summer.

Calliope had been stolen.

Tom vowed to kill whoever had stolen his sister from him. He would hunt them down and kill them.


	14. Tomorrow's Bleeding

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

_Edited and reloaded - 17 July 2013_

* * *

**_Tomorrow's Bleeding_**

* * *

Tom slammed his trunk shut. He stared around the empty Head Boy room, taking in all areas to make sure he had packed everything. Upon finding nothing remaining in the room, he sat down on the bed.

It was his last night at Hogwarts. Tomorrow, he'd be kicked out of the only place he'd ever felt at home. Refusing to allow himself to dwell on that fact— nor the fact tomorrow he was falling asleep in a tiny, uncomfortable bed in his microscopic flat— Tom, reopened his trunk and pulled out one of the books on horcruxes.

He had not planned to steal the books from the library, but after decoding the information contained within, he did not want the information to ever be out of his possession. The only book he let go was the one he had borrowed from the Blacks. He almost chanced the curse, but it was written in Parseltounge and Tom was the only known speaker so he knew no one else would be able to read the book. He did not want anyone to know how to destroy the horcruxes he planned to make. The only person who knew he was interested in them was Slughorn.

It had been a grave mistake to ask the man about them. While he had gotten what he wanted from the man, the thought of seven horcruxes appalled the man. He had stared at Tom as if he did not know him. But, Slughorn was a Slytherin. He'd never tell anyone about Tom asking.

Little mind. Slughorn failed to see the magic with seven horocruxes. The strength. The power.

Tom knew how to make them, how to spell the storage units and much more than anyone else before on the subject matter. He did not see why people thought splitting your soul was so evil. It allowed one to remained tied to this world, tethered to life. Life was better than death.

And in keeping all known books (except one) in his possession, Tom would be invincible.

He pushed the books to the side, catching a glimpse of something he had not looked at in over a year: Calliope's trunk.

Dumbledore had given it to him, after going through it himself no doubt. Tom felt a surge of anger run through his veins.

He was ready to be done with that meddling fool.

Pulling out the shrunken trunk, Tom resized it. He opened the lid and stared into the trunk. Her first year books were there, except for the ones she had had on her. Her spare robes were folded neatly, along with her uniform. Her spare shoes were sitting on the bottom, next to her container of quills and ink pots. The thing he was most upset that was missing was the guitar he'd spelled for her. Tom had never been able to find it to destroy it when he'd hunted down all Atlanta Black's things related to that blasted song. He had no idea where Calliope had found it during the Christmas holidays and it was missing from the trunk.

Tom knew Dumbledore had it. He had requested Dumbledore return it to him, but Dumbledore pretended not to know what Tom was talking about.

"Bastard," Tom muttered.

He was about to slam the lid, when he noticed a bag. Her school bag had been missing, as she had it on her when she vanished. He pulled the mysterious bag out slowly, amazed Dumbledore had left this bag in the trunk when Tom realized what it was.

It was the bag of Atlanta Black, the girl who had appeared out of Tom's un-charmed, very Muggle diary. The girl Tom had erased and replaced with his sister.

The bag was made out of good quality leather. It was soft and smooth. He carefully opened the flap, flipping it back. It made a soft smacking noise. Within the bag were books— books from the future. He pulled one out. It was a Herbology text, _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. _

Tom flipped the cover back and saw the last copyright date: 1986.

The other book was _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. Copyright: 1968.

Tom frowned. He'd thought Atlanta Black had come from fifty years before his time? These books were all old and used. The transfiguration book was in horrible shape. The cover was almost falling off.

What did a child who clearly had money (based on the state of the bag and all her other belongings) doing with ratty, used books?

Tucking the books back into the bag, he riffled through her pieces of Muggle notebook paper, finding a rolled up scroll. Unrolling it, he found an essay she'd written for Herbology.

He was not impressed.

He threw it out.

Tom threw out all the Muggle notebooks filled with notes, only keeping the one that was clearly where she wrote her own words down. There were pages filled with random sentences, random words, random melodies.

No where was the melody or lyrics that haunted him. Those had clearly come to her once she was with him and never wrote them down in her notebook. He went through the bag, trying to find somewhere that song was written down on, but found nothing.

He had destroyed all evidence of that song.

Tom went through the entire bag. He found strange objects made out of a hard material that wasn't metal or wood. He turned one of these objects over in his hands a few times before putting it back in the bag. Tom was pretty sure it was supposed to be a mermaid, but it was too bright and colorful. And it wasn't ugly.

She also had a rubber ducky in her bag. Tom quirked an eyebrow.

At the bottom of the school bag, he found a rolled up robe. Unrolling it he found it was the robe she'd arrived in. She had never washed it, simply shoved it away in the bag. He had no idea where the rest of her strange, future uniform had gone, but it was not in the bag. Only the robe. He turned it around in his hands, studying it.

Tom eyed the Gryffindor patch on the front, dotted with her blood. He ripped the patch off the robe and fingered the it, tracing that stupid, roaring lion with it's red and gold stitching. Leering at it, an idea occurred to him.

He stopped leering.

Standing, he held the patch in the palm of his hand. He glanced back at his trunk, at the secret compartment he stored that charmed diary in. He eyed the books on horcruxes.

Smiling, he closed his hand around the patch.

He opened the diary and put the patch in. He cut a square of her robe, an area she'd clearly used to stanch her nose for an extended period. Grabbing his potions kit Slughorn had gifted him for graduation, he extracted her blood from the cloth. Looking at the tiny vial of red liquid, he smirked.

"I'll get you back, my pretty," he said to the empty room, shaking the contents.

He laughed a cold, high pitched laugh. It echoed around his room, fading away before it reached the hallways.


End file.
